


Ghost In Your House, Ghost In Your Arms

by melancholymango



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angry Sex Gone Wrong! Gone Soft and Loving!, Complicated Relationships, Dom Lance (Voltron), Domestic Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Ghost Lance (Voltron), Human Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith is also SOFT and FULL OF LOVE to give, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Monsterfucking, Pining Lance (Voltron), Rimming, Rough Sex, Top Lance (Voltron), all you really need to know is they are very in love and they're working out their issues as a team, but they have many issues, eventual mutual pining, have you ever tried to tag a 90k oneshot please let me live, he just doesnt know how yet, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 05:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 92,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21131168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melancholymango/pseuds/melancholymango
Summary: “There’s no way anyone would actually go down into a basement that looked like that. Even if my daughter was missing, I’d have to nope the fuck outta that one.” Lance says it conversationally, like he’s totally casual with the eerie scene playing out on the screen. But Keith has been watching him out of the corner of his eye for a while now, finding a secret sort-of solace in the fact that even Lance is sitting on the edge of the couch, biting his lip raw with anxiety for the next plot twist of the movie. It’s a beautiful kind of irony.“I would. Ghosts aren’t real.”“I’m literally sitting right here.” Lance counters, but there’s no real bite behind the words. Keith shrugs his shoulders, tossing another handful of popcorn into his mouth.“Horror movie ghosts aren’t real.”“You don’t know that.”--Keith buys a rickety old house despite everyone's warnings and find himself with a roommate that doesn't pay rent. Or eat. Or breathe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is... my baby. I started it literally forever ago and the original prompt was so simple and it was just supposed to be "imagine if you said "spirits come eat my ass!" and then they DID". But if felt a little too noncon for my liking so I wanted them to get to know each other and bond FIRST. And, um... I added like 80k words of them getting to know each other and barely 10k of them fucking. THIS IS WHY PORN WITHOUT PLOT AND ME DONT MIX WELL!!!
> 
> ok quick heads up: Keith has an encounter with a shitty oc where they go to hook-up and he realizes said oc is married and actually a really shitty guy. At which point he kicks him out and then nothing happens. BUT if cheating or generally tense sexual scenes trigger you, just be aware of that. NOTHING nonconsensual happens but Keith is just sorta uncomfortable and getting a bad feeling about the guy before he even realizes he's married.
> 
> also the alcohol thing, Keith turns to alcohol to solve his problems and he drives drunk at one point in the story and he's a fucking idiot!! It's not really covered in detail but he does have a history of alcohol abuse and he does mention therapy at one point because he's working through his issues, he just has a moment of weakness and relapses. 
> 
> I figure I'll just put the trigger warnings at the start of this story because it's. SO long. If you can think of a better way for me to tag the above two things I mentioned, please let me know. ENJOY THE STORY!!

It’s an old house. All it takes is one quick glance at the photos in the ad to know that much, to know that the walls of that building have seen as many lives come and go as a small hospital. There’s wear and tear to every inch of it. Whole walls are starting to slouch in, wallpaper and floorboards ripped up, and the windows have all been smashed out by teens in the area breaking in to find a quick hang-out spot.

It’s an old house and it hasn’t seen its glory days for twenty years, give or take.

Keith supposes some of the above reasons might be why his decision to purchase shocks everyone so deeply. Even the realtor does a double-take, glances down at his clipboard and then back at Keith, asks him in a light tone if he’s being serious. And sure, maybe the decision is the slightest bit impulsive, but who would Keith be if he wasn’t just that? When has thinking things through ever been a skill of his?

He’s been looking for a house for months. When Pidge suggested coming to see this one, it was almost as a joke. Almost. It was also a little bit intrigued by the possibilities, something the old building seemed to have no shortage of. There were so many stories, so many questions, so many things unique to those walls that no newer house would ever be able to replicate.

And crazy as it may seem… taking those first steps into that decrepit house, Keith had just felt at home. It felt homey despite the state of disrepair it was in, like he was walking into the loving home of a big, happy family. It was hard to know how he could draw the similarities, considering he’d never in his life been a member of a happy or big family, but he couldn’t deny what he felt.

He tried to explain this to his older brother Shiro’s skeptical self, but he only succeeded in convincing Pidge that the house was filled with _ spirits _. Friendly ones, ones that were happy to see Keith in the house, but spirits nonetheless in her eyes. Keith, a sworn non-believer, really didn’t want his new home to be the go-to ghost-hunting place for his eccentric friend, but whatever. If it meant she’d come over and help with the repairs, he’d take what he could get.

\--

Keith cries when they hand him the keys. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until it’s too late, both Pidge and Shiro have caught it on video and there’s no way he’ll be able to manhandle both of their phones out of their hands at the same time. So he resigns himself to being that bitch, the one who sobs like a baby over buying their first house.

Whatever, as a kid who spent his most formative years as an orphan, there’s something deeply and inherently special to him about having a home. And sure, he’s very thankful that Shiro took him in when he aged out of the foster care system, but it’s not quite the same. He’s always felt like he’s overstaying his welcome, no matter how welcoming Shiro and his husband Adam have been. 

This is different. This is Keith’s home. It’s all his own, to make what he will of it. 

“You look like that one girl from the breakfast club when you cry.” Pidge comments on the way to the house, lounged out in the backseat of Shiro’s mini van. Keith grumbles from where he sits in the passenger seat, but he doesn’t try to pick a fight because he knows she’s right. He thinks it might be the hair, or the bad eyeliner phase he had in high school that sort-of transferred into mediocre eyeliner in adulthood.

Though he still vehemently denies that he ever started wearing it to begin with, he’s pretty sure everyone knows he’s a lying little bitch at this point.

From the back hatch of the vehicle, a long whine sounds. Kosmo has been crying for the entire drive, like he’s being hurt every second he can’t be up in the front seat sprawled over Keith like he longs to be. It just isn’t practical, he’s a solid two hundred pounds of slobbery, over-excitable rescue dog. Damn if Keith hasn’t begged Shiro to let him up anyway at least ten times already though.

“You know, I think I’m gonna like you having your own place.” Pidge says suddenly, sitting up and leaning between the two front seats. She grins, glancing between the two brothers.

“Why’s that?”

“One more fridge to loot, one more couch to crash on, and one more place to throw parties when you leave town.” Pidge grins wickedly, somehow not seeing it coming when Keith’s palm sprawls over the whole of her face and shoves her bodily back into her seat.

“What makes you think I have anywhere to leave town to? I’ve always been a homebody.” Keith points out, leaning his seat back far enough that it’s bound to crush her legs at least a little bit. She retaliates by using her beanie to mess up Keith’s hair, rubbing it in and leaving static frizzing through every long strand.

“_ I know that _, but now when Shiro and Adam go on their tenth honeymoon or whatever it is they do, you won’t be staying behind to watch Shiro’s place. It’ll be free for the taking.”

“It absolutely will not.” Shiro interjected from behind the wheel, but Keith didn’t miss the knowing look Pidge shot his way. If he was being totally honest, he’d never been the best house-sitter to begin with, and they’d gotten up to some pretty weird shit even with him around. Pidge would just take it to the next level though, she’d always been more social than he was, so there’d be more people involved.

\--

When Keith sets foot on the property that is now officially his for the first time, he feels like jumping and running around the yard right alongside Kosmo’s enthusiastic self. It’s so much bigger than anywhere he’s ever lived before, green grass stretching on so far that even Kosmo’s legs tire out before he crosses the whole property. It’s perfect for them. 

The house is set back in the woods a little ways, but Keith likes it that way. The tall trees hiding it away from the road, away from prying eyes, away from the rest of the world. It’s like a universe all of its own where he can escape to. It’s the sort-of place that’s written about in children’s fiction, like the books he read as a kid that are set in a magical universe where anything can happen. And damn, he knows that he’s definitely letting his excitement go to his head now, but he basks in that happiness all the same.

Few times in Keith’s life has he been so happy.

“I get first pick of what guest room I want to be mine!” Pidge yells, charging past him and grabbing his wrist as she goes. He allows himself to be dragged along. As much as he’d like to claim she’d ruined the moment, having people to share this with only makes it better.

They run through the halls, mindful of the places where the floor has grown weak over the time. Pidge jumps in and out of rooms, giving up on them as quickly as her interest is piqued. They make it to the master bedroom and Pidge jokes that that’s the one she wants. Keith rolls his eyes at her and they move on to the next room, and then Keith tears his hand free of her grip.

The room is half the size of the master bedroom. It’s a corner room with a little seat in the window, overlooking the backyard where a small overgrown garden sits. There’s nothing particularly unique about this room compared to any of the other’s, but Keith can’t deny what he feels. 

“This is the one.” He says it aloud, heart hammering away in his chest with certainty. Pidge turns around from where she’d been staring out at the garden, laughing at the way Kosmo is already digging up. She looks at him like he’s lost his mind and immediately starts to shake her head.

“No way do I want this room. It’s the furthest room from the kitchen! It’s up the most flights of stairs and then the furthest away from said stairs. Plus it’s probably the smallest room in the house, you can’t just banish me here like some kind of Harry Potter hidey-hole-”

“At your height? It’d be a hobbit hole.” Keith corrects with a teasing smirk, walking over and using her as a particularly feisty armrest. As she swats at him, he grabs her hands and shoves her toward the door with little care. “And I didn’t mean for you. This is my room.”

The fight drains from her body all at once. She looks back at him with wide, intrigued eyes.

“What about the big one?”

“You can have it.” Keith shrugs, dismissively waving his hand through the air. She quickly crosses the room, pacing alongside him as he checks out every nook and cranny of the room. He maps it out, already figuring out the best places to arrange his books and put his bed. She’s still gaping at him though, and it’s starting to get a little annoying. 

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Nope.” Keith grins at her. “But, unless you go carry in all of our building supplies, I’m going to give it to Shiro instead. Maybe even Kosmo.”

Pidge glowers up at him in silence for a long, long moment. She looks like she’s debating biffing him out the nearby window, considering it’s already shattered anyway. She holds onto her composure by a thread though, stomping away to do as told. In truth, Keith knew Shiro would have carried the stuff in anyway by now, always eager to show-off his muscles. 

Keith just wanted to be alone with himself and with the feeling in his chest right now.

He walks around the room, fingertips trailing along the wooden paneling that travels only halfway up the wall. It’s old and worn, with dents and dings and scratches, but it ignites a passion in him. He can picture himself in here, curled up and reading a book by the window, drinking coffee from his favorite mugs he’s had in storage for so long. Kosmo would love it too, being able to look out over the backyard and watch the wildlife flitting through the trees. Keith smiles to himself.

That’s when something catches his eye. He kneels, finding one of the scratches near the base of that window seat to be a name. Neatly sprawled in that handwriting that’s not nearly as faded as he would have expected, Keith traces over it with eyebrows pinched together.

_ Lance _.

As he reads it, the wind outside picks up and blows through the window in one strong gust. His hair flies up in his face, a chill wracking his frame so cold even the cozy sweater he’s wearing can’t fight it off. He gets to his feet, teeth chattering as he looks toward the open window. He’s gonna have to do something about that.

He forgets about the name almost as suddenly as he’d found it. Shiro is hollering from downstairs that the pizza has arrived and Keith is well-aware of the appetite he’s about to work up, so he charges down the stairs to join the others. 

\--

A couple weeks into the renovation process and Keith finally meets one of his neighbors for the first time. When it happens, he’s kneeling on the porch and hammering away at a stubborn board that really doesn’t wanna stay in place. He’s working up a sweat, has to keep stopping to wipe his hair away from where it keeps clinging to his forehead. 

He has a glass of iced tea sitting not far away, just far enough that the hammer doesn’t cause it to topple over and spill. Kosmo is stretched out in the dirt of the worn path leading up to the front door. He has music playing from his kitchen, quiet but audible through the nonexistent window panes. It’s a vibe he could get used to, honestly. 

He’s so in his element, so concentrated, that he doesn’t notice the new presence until they’re right beside him. 

Or maybe that’s not the entire truth. Maybe he’s been looking up so many times today, plagued by the feeling of being watched, that he steels his resolve and just refuses to this time. No one’s gonna be there when he looks anyway, it’s always more of the same. 

Needless to say, when a hand settles gently on his shoulder and taps to get his attention, he damn near chokes to death on the mouthful of iced tea he’d just taken. He doubles over, wheezing brokenly.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” The man laughs, and Keith finally turns to look up at the stranger as he catches his breath. Immediately, he starts to choke even harder, this time seemingly on air.

The guy is… fucking hot. He looks like he could be in one of those Calvin Klein ads, the ones where the guys have just enough scruff on their face to look rugged, but with the rest of their body so waxed clean that it’s absolutely clear they never get their hands dirty. 

Vaguely, Keith realizes that he’s being a useless gay and quickly thrusts his hand out to the guy.

“I’m Keith.” He says, matter-of-factly, to this total stranger. He doesn’t even know why the guy is here yet, only that he’s hot and he’s looking at Keith with this sort of amused quirk to his lips, like he isn’t yet sure what to make of him. Keith wants to make a good first impression with everything he has, which is exactly why he overthinks it and ends up fumbling awkwardly.

As the dude takes his hand and gives it a hearty shake, Keith makes a mental note of how warm his hand feels wrapped around his. He doesn’t realize until it’s too late that he’s been holding on for far too long and the guy is looking at him expectantly. He hastily snatches his hand away.

“Fred.” The guy, Fred, chuckles as he introduces himself. Keith nods, processing the new information and storing it away with all the other important information in his brain (most of said information is about cute guys, he’s not going to lie). It’s not exactly the kind of name he’d put to a face like that, but hey, whatever. That’s the least of his concerns right now.

“Can I help you with something?” Keith asks, mentally pumping his fist in the air because he’d really nailed that one. What a smooth conversation transition. 

“Oh, not really.” Fred answers dismissively. Keith’s hopes immediately topple down to the ground again, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to keep the conversation up with an empty response like that one. Fred must see the lost look on his face though, because he’s quick to correct himself. “I heard someone bought this old place and I guess I just wanted a face to put with the information. I’ve always wondered what kind of person would wanna live here.”

Keith finds a frown dragging the corners of his mouth down before he can stop it from happening. He’s been smiling like an idiot this whole time, but something defensive flares up inside his chest at the first sign of judgment. He likes to think he’s a pretty confident guy, people’s opinions don’t really get to him, but he’s passionate enough about this house that he doesn’t really wanna hear what anyone else thinks about it.

“Uh-huh.” Keith says levelly, trying to keep it cool. He wipes his hand off on his jeans, subconsciously shifting further away from the guy and turning to face him properly. “Yeah, I guess that would be me.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you. Sometimes I say the stupidest shit.” Fred explains hurriedly, looking nervous for the first time since they’d met. Keith’s right back to grinning in an instant, because whatever, he likes his men vulnerable or some bullshit like that. “I just live across the street, and I’ve grown up in this neighborhood. This place has been empty as long as I can remember, so it really surprised me to hear someone had finally bought it.”

“It’s not really what I pictured for myself, if I’m being honest.” Keith shrugs his shoulders. Fred nods in understanding, taking a step back from the porch to stare up at the house where it looms over them, dark and intimidating. He quirks an eyebrow and Keith huffs out a laugh. “I just fell in love with the place the second I saw it, it was crazy. It was like I was meant to be here.”

Fred pauses then, before his eyes trail back down to Keith. There’s a sort of warmth there that Keith’s pretty sure he can’t be imagining. He’s even more sure when Fred takes a step forward, kneeling in front of him so he’s at Keith’s level. His smile is lopsided, and oh so cute, and Keith’s heart pounds away in his chest.

“Well, maybe you were.” Fred smirks, reaching around behind himself and digging his phone out of his back pocket. Keith bites his lip, feigning indifference even as excitement sparks all through him. One week in the new house and he’s already getting a cute guy’s phone number, how’s that for starting fresh and flipping life on its ass? He’s been single for years while he finished school, but maybe it was time to get back into the dating game after all. 

Fred must be able to read him pretty well, given he starts to grin like an idiot too. “Do you want my number? In case anything ever happens and you need to get in contact with someone local? You’re really on your own back here in the woods, never hurts to have connections.”

“Sure.” Keith says, shrugging his shoulders. “Why not?”

\--

“Fred’s a pretty shit name, isn’t it?” Pidge says, feet swinging over the armrest of his couch. Keith rolls his eyes, falling into the armchair instead, just a ratty old used thing he’d picked up at the local thrift store until he gets his actual furniture. Pidge apparently hasn’t said her fill yet though, because she tips her head back until she’s staring at him upside-down. “His parents couldn’t think of anything better? I know like five_ fathers _ named Fred, it’s not alluring at all.”

Keith is starting to think that it might have been a mistake telling them about his new mystery man. He couldn’t help it, he spilled his guts the moment he saw Shiro again. He was just so stupidly excited over the whole thing, like a kid in a candy shop, it’d been so long since he’d so much as dipped his toe in the waters of the dating scene. 

Pidge found out by her own means, meaning she walked in on Keith attempting to flirt with the guy over the phone and immediately started retching in the background of the call. Things had all been downhill from there, if he was being honest. The teasing had been brutal, utterly relentless. 

“I doubt his parents were worried about how alluring his name was going to be when they birthed the guy, Pidge. That’d be a little bit weird, don’t you think?” Keith replies, stretching his arms out. 

They’d been painting the entire day and his spine feels like it’s going to cave in on itself. Pidge looks to be a similar state of exhausted despite working on different things. Shiro, the saint that he was, was high up on a ladder working on the second story of the house.

“All I’m saying is they should’ve been looking out for the poor dude. Who in their right mind is going to moan a name like “Fred” while they’re in bed?” Pidge rattles on, getting passionate now as she continues to argue with no one but herself. “I’ll tell you who, absolutely _ no one _except maybe the other members of the Scooby Doo gang.” 

“Why is it _ always _a sexual thing with you?” Keith groans, throwing his arms over his face to hide it from view. He can’t deny, his mind also went there a couple of times in the past week, but can anyone blame him? The guy is hotter than half of Keith’s celebrity crushes and for some reason actually attainable, what else is he supposed to think about? 

“So... he must be something pretty special if he’s got you all blushy like this.” Pidge says lowly, the words practically dripping malicious intent. Keith braces himself, knowing he’s about to get made fun of all over again. It’s been so long since he’s had a crush, he’d forgotten how annoying it is to have one.

“He’s _ not _.”

“He is.” Shiro shouts, poking his head around the door and pointing an accusatory paintbrush in Keith’s direction. “Keith spent a ridiculous amount of money to get extra data, so they can video chat while he’s at the house. You know, because he doesn’t have any wi-fi here yet.”

“Aw.” Pidge coos, eyelashes fluttering. Keith grunts indifferently, shoulders hiked up toward his chin as he tries desperately to blend in to the armchair. He is_ so _ over this conversation.

“Shut-up.” Keith snaps at her, but no matter how he tries he can’t keep the anger in his voice. That’s frightening in itself, that this guy’s already got him so soft that he can’t even scowl while talking about him. He’s really in over his head here. “He’s just… really nice. That’s all.”

“I’m happy for you.” Pidge sighs out, surprisingly genuine rather than teasing. She winks at him and Keith shakes his head, trying and failing to fight the smile off his face. Pidge leans back then, cracking her knuckles. Her voice gruff as she speaks around a yawn. “You’ve been single for a really long time, it’s really killin’ the vibe around here.”

“You’re literally not interested in any form of romantic relationship? How is me being single killing _ your _vibe?”

“You’ve got big horny energy, all the time, it’s gross.” Pidge informs him like she’s giving dire news, diagnosing him with an incurable disease and not just calling him desperate. Keith gets to his feet, deciding that he’s not just going to sit there and be made fun of. There’s more painting to be done outside anyway and they’re not getting anywhere sitting around all day.

“I don’t know why I invited you over.”

“Uh, duh? No one else is gonna be able to figure out how to install all these new light fixtures without reading the instruction booklets first. You just saved yourself like an hour of reading.” Pidge calls after him, her tone matter-of-fact. “_ You’re welcome _.”

“However shall I repay you?” Keith joked, picking up his discarded paintbrush and heading outside to join his brother. In all honesty, he isn’t really expecting Pidge to follow after him. She didn’t look like she had any intentions of moving anytime soon, so when he realizes that she’s practically stepping on his heels he knows something has to be up.

“I know how you can repay me.” Pidge segues, about as smoothly as could be expected from someone stumbling along in an effort to keep up with him. Keith turns in the doorway, shooting her a skeptical look that he hopes captures just how little he trusts this. “I was thinking…”

“No. My answer is already no. Anything you take the time to lead into and warm me up to has to be a terrible idea or you’d just come out and say it.” 

“He’s right, Pidge.” Shiro laughs loudly, looking down from the ladder he’s standing on. Pidge glares up at him, giving him the finger.

“Shut-up, Shiro, nobody asked you.” She hisses, turning back to follow Keith as he goes around back of the house to get to work. She hurries along behind him, a silent sort of plea to pay attention to her again and at least let her ask. He only stops once he’s got a paintbrush dipped in paint, slathering it across the exterior of the house. 

“Alright, what do you want?”

“I wanna try using a Ouija board. Here. At your house.” The words leave her mouth in a rush, like if she asks quick enough he’ll just agree without thinking on it. Keith pauses, a glob of dark red paint sliding messily down the sideboards of his house because, _ what _?

“Pidge, are you seriously still on about that?”

“Just one time!” The plea falls on deaf ears because Keith is no longer listening to her. He looks in the opposite direction just for a second, just to gather his thoughts and decide whether he’s going to entertain this nonsense anymore. 

But movement in the forest catches his eyes and so he pauses, watching a shadow sweep between the trees. He tries to tell himself it’s just something overhead, maybe a cloud, but the leaves would block anything like that from reaching the ground. And so he starts again with a new excuse. It’s more than likely just Kosmo sniffling around the woods, or a particularly big racoon bustling around. There’s a lot of wildlife around his house, he’s come to notice.

It’s just… the feeling he gets as he continues to stare. He doesn’t know how to describe it. It’s not something scary, he doesn’t wanna run away. It’s not even unsettling, really? If the others weren’t here, he’d probably even walk toward it to inspect further. No, the feeling is just a gentle sort-of urgency... not at all unlike the mood Pidge is setting with her begging on the other side of him.

He shakes it off, turning back to Pidge.

“I don’t think-” He’s pretty sure he’s made up his mind at this point that he just isn’t going to go along with this. It’s not the sort-of thing he wants their hang-outs to turn into every time they’re at his house and he can see it going that way on the off-handed chance that Pidge does find some kind of “proof” to support her suspicions. It’s just annoying, he doesn’t wanna be a part of it.

He cuts himself off long before Pidge has the chance to though, freezing with his tongue still pressed to his teeth mid-sentence, because it’s _ back _. That sense of urgency that seems to surround him like a fog, clouding his thoughts and swaying his decision. It’s nothing unbearable, nothing malicious, it’s just a pressure that sweeps over him from one direction in particular. It gets to the point over the following seconds that it starts to feel like a physical weight constricting around him.

Keith coughs loudly, dropping his paintbrush into the tray with little regard for cleaning it off first. 

“If we don’t get anything, we don’t get anything. I’ll drop it.” Pidge says, leaning into his line of view like the only reason he’s hesitating is because she’s annoying him. He chuckles at the thought.

“Get me another coke and I’ll think about it.” He relents, shrugging his shoulders. He doesn’t exactly have anything to lose if he doesn’t believe in a word of this shit. If it makes her happy and gets her to shut-up about it in the same go? Perfect.

Pidge runs off to the kitchen as fast as her short little legs will carry her and Keith is pleasantly surprised to find the weight lifts from his shoulders. Whatever he’d been feeling passes as quickly as it came on, so he goes right back to painting. It was all in his head, no doubt. Pidge is probably starting to make him second-guess himself, his mind predisposed to thinking spirits the moment anything happens around here with how often she talks of them. 

So maybe it’ll be a good thing to do this Ouija bullshit and prove that there’s nothing here.

“You’re not serious.” Shiro groans, as he walks around the corner. Keith glances up at him with a question on the tip of his tongue, but seeing the expression directed at him he can piece things together all on his own. He can’t help it, he starts to smirk. “_ Keith _, don’t you know those things creep me out?”

“Don’t you know that that’s exactly why I’m considering agreeing to it?”

\--

In the following week, Keith really comes to regret ever saying anything remotely encouraging. Pidge won’t leave him alone about it and if he’s being honest, he’s not really feeling it anymore. It’s not that he’s nervous about it or anything, it just seems like the sort-of thing that’s going to spiral into another worse thing. If Pidge finds something there’s gonna be no stopping her, she’ll bring all the weird ghost hunting equipment she can find into his humble home. 

He plans on telling her he’s changed his mind about the whole thing, he really does. It’s just the words never really come out right. He feels _ bad _ about backing out, as much as he wants to. And the thing is, Pidge would probably understand if he let her down gently, she’s not actually a terrible friend as much as they joke around. He didn’t even promise he was going to do it, yet he can’t shake the feeling of commitment that’s hanging over him.

So he follows through with it, one rainy evening when he was supposed to start driving back to Shiro’s over an hour ago. But Pidge is helping him fix one of the outlets that doesn’t seem to be working, so they’re here a little later than usual. Keith’s leaning against the counter watching her work and he just blurts it out, without a second thought.

“Let’s do your Ouija thing.” Keith says impulsively, met with the hilarious sight of Pidge jumping up so quickly that she hits her head off the counter. She grumbles something wicked as she rubs at the new bruise, but she’s still smiling like a fool when she turns to him.

“You mean it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Keith shrugs, like it hasn’t been eating him up inside for days. Maybe he’s gotten tired of having it on his mind all the time so he’s just decided to get it over with. He’s not actually sure what prompts him to do it today of all days. Something just shoves him in that direction, his usual impulsive streak showing up to make the decisions for him.

It’s a little bit ridiculous watching the lengths she goes to to set everything up just right. There’s candles, a recording running on her phone, and the girl’s even got a fucking smudging stick that she must have ordered in from ebay (just in case things go awry, she says). He resists the urge to roll his eyes and walk away right then.

“How does it work?” He asks, lips pursed around the bottle in his grip. Common sense says he needs to be at least a little bit tipsy to play along with this. Pidge glances up at him from where she’s setting the board up on the table, placing the plastic trinket in the middle that Keith knows is supposed to move across the board to spell out words or something. 

He knows the basics, he’s seen a few horror movies in his lifetime, but Pidge is making it out to be a lot more complicated than a board game should ever be. 

She gives him this smirk, like he’s in way over his head or something, short little fingers wiggling ominously through the air toward the plastic gadget. Keith quirks an eyebrow.

“So, we just set our hands on the planchette and-” She cuts herself off, hand freezing long before it touches anything set-up on the table. Keith watches right along with her as the “planchette” takes a trip all on its own, sliding effortlessly across the board without anyone touching it. It moves damn fast too, not a second of hesitation. 

Keith starts to chuckle, not even bothering to read what it’s supposedly spelling. Was _ that _ what they were doing here, then? He wasn’t about to play along with Pidge’s newest shitty prank, no wonder she’d set up a recording on her phone. She really thought she was gonna get him.

“You install magnets in the board or something? Program it to do this?” Keith questions, dissolving into a fit of giggles at the terribly faked look of surprise on her face. This is so stupid.

“Shut-up, I’m trying to read what it’s saying!” Pidge hisses at him, and in response he only laughs that much harder. He’s laughing so hard he can hardly stay upright in the armchair, let alone hold onto his beer. It ends up spilling some across his front, but he can’t be assed to care because this is just comedy gold to him. Pidge is really so determined to mess with him she went through all this?

Kosmo comes trotting into the room on long clumsy legs, curious about all the uproar. Keith immediately calls out to him, patting his lap for the massive dog to climb up into. But Kosmo just sort of freezes in the doorway, staring at the table between Keith and Pidge with a wary gaze. Keith can see the hackles of his shaggy hair raising from here. Kosmo backs out of the room a second later, headed back to wherever he’d been before.

Keith quiets down, exhales and takes a long drink. 

“Keith.” Pidge addresses him suddenly, her voice not nearly as annoyed as he’d been expecting. He sits up, wondering if she’s already at the point where she’s gonna admit this was all one big joke.

“_ What _?”

“No, that’s what it spelled out.” Pidge tells him, pointing to the board. Keith squints at the offending object with skepticism written all over his face. He’s not sure if it’d be funnier to play along or call Pidge out at this point. Before he can decide, Pidge reaches forward and snaps her fingers in his face a few times. “I think it wants you to pay attention, dumbass.”

“Whatever.” Keith grunts, leaning heavily on the armrest and watching as the planchette starts to move all on its own again. He’s not sure that spirits are supposed to be able to do that? Like maybe he should call Pidge’s bluff here, don’t they need a human to hold onto it at the same time? 

It only goes to three letters this time and Keith is left waiting, wondering if there’s supposed to be something more to the message. Seconds tick by and there’s no sign of life (lol), so he figures that must be it. He sits back in his seat, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. This was just sad at this point.

H-E-Y

“Wow, this ghost is really shooting their shot. You into it?” Pidge asks, aiming for something teasing but sounding a lot more nervous than anything else. Keith can give credit where it’s due, she is starting to look pretty spooked right about now. Her acting skills aren’t a total write-off after all. 

“This is stupid.” Keith states plainly, running a hand through his hair. “No way did a ghost just use all of its spiritual energy to give me a generic greeting.”

“Let me try asking it a question.” Pidge insists, clasping her hands together like that’s gonna make any difference to what a ghost thinks of her. Keith’s gaze flits around the room, trying to focus on anything else so he can feign total disinterest. “What’s your name?” 

Keith starts to smile at that.

“Let me guess, you saw the name written upstairs and programmed that in, too?” He asks her, shooting a knowing look in her direction. But Pidge is hardly paying attention to him, totally fixated as another word starts spelling itself out on the board.

“What name?” Pidge’s voice is obviously distracted, so Keith doesn’t bother elaborating. He leans forward, an amused smile quirking at the corners of his lips as the board spells out exactly what he’d been expecting it to. Come on, at this point it is just too predictable.

L-A-N-C-E

“You’re not even a little bit convincing.” Keith informs her, rather matter-of-factly. She’s hastily jotting down some notes in her handy-dandy ghosthunting notebook, but Keith decides to take it upon himself to speed this whole process along. Like he said, he doesn’t really know the specifics really, but he’s seen enough horror films to know what not to do in this situation. 

He leans back, propping his feet up on the table right over the stupid board. Pidge’s shriek of horror is more haunting than anything else he’s seen tonight. “Hey Lance, my good bitch, how did you die?”

“Keith, that’s rude to ask!” Pidge cries, hands landing on his combat boots and desperately trying to shove them off the board. Keith gives an indifferent shrug, lowering them so he can watch as the word starts spelling itself out again. He gives an exaggerated yawn when he sees what’s coming.

M-U-R-D-E-R

“Wow, you couldn’t have come up with something more original?” Keith complains, leaning forward and outright smirking at Pidge. He’s caught her in her lie at this point, it’s only a matter of time before she gives up and admits she can’t win. She can’t scare him with this shit. “Death by broken heart? Stubbed toe? Cat allergies? Oh, you could do one of those weird ones, like a lawnmower.”

As Keith dissolves into more laughter, Pidge gets up and walks over to turn on the lights. She blows out the candles one by one, then turns off her recording. She hasn’t said a word yet and she certainly isn’t laughing along with him.

“I’m not doing this with you.” She says, poorly-concealed anger starting to bubble over the surface. It has Keith hesitating the slightest bit, because there’s no way she’s that good of an actor. Had he really hurt her feelings? Maybe by putting his shoes on one of her belongings, joke or not? He hadn’t meant to be a total asshole, he thought they were messing around.

Pidge reaches across the table for him. “Put your hand on the planchette so we can say goodbye. Then I’m going to smudge this place and hope for the best.”

And just like that, panic stronger than anything Keith has ever felt in his life bubbles up in his stomach and into his throat. He gasps, bringing his legs up onto the chair with him and hugging them to his chest, overwhelmed by the sheer anxiety flooding through him. Every single part of him is protesting, loudly and vehemently, demanding that he doesn’t do it.

It takes him a weirdly long time to even realize what “_ it _” is that he’s supposedly so against doing.

When he does piece it together, he immediately wants to reject the whole idea. He knows for a fact that he doesn’t care one way or the other what Pidge does with this shit, he’s pretty sure she’s still trying to pull some kind of a joke on him. But he can’t deny the terror he’s feeling, like he would fight to the death to make sure that she doesn’t try and banish the spirits he doesn’t even believe in from his home.

It doesn’t add up for_ him _ to feel those things.

“No?” Keith tries the word out like he’s never used it before in his life, like he’s speaking a completely foreign language. Thankfulness swamps over him from the inside out and it’s more than unsettling to have his own body broadcasting emotions he isn’t even really feeling _ at himself _, but he doesn’t want to think any harder about this than he absolutely has to. 

Nevermind the feelings of warmth that invade his chest after he says it, after he obeys. It’s affection so strong it swamps him, makes him feel light and giddy with it. He bites back a smile, especially because Pidge is looking at him a little strangely already.

“_ No _?” Pidge croaks out, looking up at him with disbelief in her eyes. She looks the slightest bit terrified too, like if Keith says one wrong thing she’s gonna up and bolt out of there. He’s offended by that, if he’s being honest. If he really were possessed, he’d hope that his friend would help him out rather than leave him in the clutches of a demon.

“No.” Keith says, with a sense of finality.

“Keith, you’re gonna invite all kinds of demons into your house if you don’t do this.”

“Not doing it.” He says stubbornly, getting to his feet and heading into the kitchen. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t want to see the suspicious way she stares after him. God forbid he encourages her to question him on the matter, because he really doesn’t have any answer to give. Not one he wants to say out loud, anyway.

“You are so stupid.” Pidge calls out from the other room as he drops off his empty bottle, deciding to switch out for water for the remainder of the night. Not because he’s worried about nursing a headache in the morning, but because he thinks it might be getting to him in weird ways and causing him to imagine things that just aren’t there. He never wants to be that level of drunk. 

Keith walks back into the living room just in time to watch Pidge slide the planchette to the appropriate corner to say goodbye. “There, hopefully it’s enough that I did it considering neither of us even touched the thing or said anything to invite a spirit in. I think that one must have just been lurking around here already, waiting for it’s chance to talk.”

“You were the one doing all of that anyway, it makes sense for _ you _to say goodbye.” Keith comments, leaning against the doorframe and taking a long sip from his glass. She looks over at him, biting her lip in deep thought.

“Should I try to smudge? Just in case?”

“It’s probably fine.” Keith blurts quickly, before the full extent of the panic can even settle over him. He knows it’s coming, can feel the weight that settles around his back like someone is leaning insistently over his shoulder and pulling the strings for him. When Pidge looks at him weirdly, he has an excuse prepared this time. “I don’t want my house smelling like smoke.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, like Pidge is trying to read something in his expression that she just can’t find. Maybe she’s looking for a shred of belief, but she isn’t going to find it there.

“I’m gonna head home.” She mutters finally, gathering her things into her bag. Keith sighs heavily as he watches her rush to leave, like she can’t possibly get out of there quick enough. He flops back into his signature chair, the one he’s come to love so much he won’t be replacing it even when he does go to buy new furniture.

“Pidge, I didn’t mean to piss you off.” 

“For starters, that’s not an apology.” Pidge is speaking in that lecturing tone she gets sometimes, when she thinks she can teach him how to be a better person. He groans, shrugging his shoulders. It was an apology, or at least the closest to one that he knew how to give. She knew what he meant by it anyway, that his feelings were genuine. She just had to make it difficult, expecting him to use his words when she knows he struggles with them. 

Pidge doesn’t wait for him to correct himself though, only stumbles forward and wraps her arms around him in a lopsided hug. She’s standing and he’s sitting so it ends up more like her squishing him down into the chair with her full body weight, but he supposes he probably deserves that. “_ Secondly _, it’s fine. It was a dumb idea anyway. I don’t know what I’d do even if I did find a ghost, it’s probably better to live in denial like you.”

“There’s nothing to deny.”

“You staying here much later?” She asks, as he stumbles onto his feet and leads her to the door. He glances over his shoulder, staring back at the empty room. He shakes his head.

“Nah, I’ll probably head back to Shiro’s as soon as you leave. I just have to round up Kosmo, wherever he’s gotten to, then I’m out of here.” The words aren’t a lie exactly, but he’s certainly saying exactly what she wants him to hear. It’s not hard to figure out what these questions are, to realize that she’s grilling him because she’s worried about him being here alone. 

But he still has work to do and he isn’t gonna let a spooky ghost keep him from it, he’s not an idiot.

“Want me to wait around for you?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Keith brushes her off as gently as he can, cracking the door open so he can come out onto the porch and make sure she gets to her car safely. She gives him a patronizing stare, like she’s deeply unimpressed that he isn’t going to let her treat him like a child in need of protecting. Nevermind that he’s double the size of her, doesn’t have a fear of the paranormal, and took Taekwondo classes for two years. 

“Night, loser.” She punches him in the arm, a playful smile on her lips. Keith shoves her away with a long sigh. She bounces down the stairs one by one, sticking her middle finger up into the air as a farewell. “You know who to call if anything comes up!”

“Was that a Ghostbusters joke?” He’s a little late on the come up, doesn’t realize until she’s already climbing into her car. He doesn’t get an answer as she turns the car on and drives off, the lime green Beetle disappearing into the night. No offense to Pidge’s personal taste, but he thinks his driveway looks significantly better without it. 

With that, he turns around and heads back into the house. The floorboards creak under his weight as he heads for the kitchen, hoping to pick up where he left off with tearing the ruined floral wallpaper off the walls. It’s not the most entertaining task he’s had to do since starting the renos, but it needs to be done sooner rather than later. That wallpaper is hideous. 

Kosmo doesn’t run in to sleep at his feet like he was earlier, but Keith figures he’s off in some side room sleeping and doesn’t read too much into it. He’s not worried about it. Kosmo is a pretty independent dog, for the most part. And Keith doesn’t really mind being alone in the house. At night. For the first time. 

Twenty uneventful minutes pass and Keith is settling into the task now, tearing wallpaper off like it’s nobody’s business. He’s working hard enough to build up a sweat and has to put his hair back, sick of the feeling of it clinging to his skin. It’s getting a little bit unruly because he hasn’t had the chance to get a haircut with all the excitement lately.

He barely has the chance to pick up the tools again before he notices something is off. The air seems noticeably cooler, like someone had opened the window and the late night autumn air is sweeping right through the place. He turns to check that someone hasn’t done just that and catches a flash of movement in the reflection of the glass.

“Kosmo?” Keith calls, walking tentatively closer to the window. He grabs up a hammer out of his toolbox on the way there, always prepared for the worst. No one is inside the house obviously, so he leans close to the window and tries to look out into the night. His yard seems quiet, no signs of life out enjoying the moonlight. He goes to turn around and promptly freezes, shoulders hiked up toward his shoulders.

There’s no one else there, but Keith swears he can feel it. The light brush of skin against skin as someone presses in close behind him, the sensation of soft breaths fanning across the back of his neck, even the way his skin heats up like shared body heat is rolling across it. It gets more intense, the presence getting closer. Keith swallows roughly, and the softest lingering kiss is pressed to the nape of his neck where it’s still damp with sweat.

He squeezes his eyes shut, fingers curling tighter around the hammer reflexively.

Keith doesn’t start swinging like his every instinct is telling him to, though. He waits it out, refusing to believe that it’s really happening. He’s determined to find some kind of logical explanation, to use rational thought rather than go with what his brain has been conditioned to think with all of the ghost talk lately. Because it’s not a ghost.

It’s not a ghost when he first notices the presence and it’s definitely not a ghost when hands lightly trace his hips, fingertips walking along his skin just below the hem of his shirt. The touch follows the dips and divots of the waistband of his joggers, at one point even letting a single finger slip underneath. It toys with the second waistband, white elastic of the boxers he’s wearing. The elastic snaps back against his skin harsh enough that he jumps, knocking his knees against the cupboards.

He grits his teeth, turning to look over his shoulder. He half expects to find some ballsy teenager, determined to take back the hang-out place that’d been stolen away when Keith bought the building out. But there’s no one there. There’s no face to match up with the lingering touch, hand still on his hip now like it isn’t sure where to move next.

He wants to reach out and wave his hand through the air, as utterly stupid as it is. He just needs to _ know _, needs to see if he’d make contact with anything if he tried it. But no matter how he tries, he can’t find the will to do it. He’s scared of what the answer might be. He’s scared he might already know.

Keith turns abruptly away, marching stubbornly back over to his workplace from before. He isn’t going to let this ruin his night, not when he’d been being so productive. Whatever it is was just a phantom twitch, some strange short-circuiting of his nerve endings. Maybe Shiro is onto something when he tells Keith he’s been drinking too much coffee lately and that he should cut back on it.

He bends over to grab the scraper, tries to make it quick but apparently isn’t quick enough. Those hands are back with a vengeance, settling on his ass heavily enough that it borders on a slap. He can hear the noise it makes, the dull thud of impact even though there’s nothing there to hit him. The hands rub the swell of his ass over his sweatpants, taking the time to map out every inch. It’s not like it feels _ bad _ , he’s desperate and lonely enough at this point that he’d probably _ pay _ a man to touch him like this. But this isn’t a man, it’s arguably not even a person, and so his breath catches in his throat and stays there. 

The thing to break him out of his stupor is the feeling of those fingers flexing, grabbing a hearty handful of each cheek with a possessiveness, like it’s theirs to claim. And oh fuck no, the heat that shoots through him like a bolt of electricity at that is more condemning than admitting to himself that he’s having a paranormal experience will ever be. He isn’t about to stand here and let himself be_ into _ this.

He ends up with a foot in Kosmo’s water dish in his rush to get away from the touch, but he can’t really find it in him to care about that when he can still feel the very real sting of ten points of contact.

He whirls around, cheeks aflame and hair falling in his eyes, desperately looking around the room for anyone to blame. There’s still no one there and Keith is left with nothing to go off of, no one to suspect, no fingers to point. He has nothing other than the sinking feeling in his gut that this might be something that _ doesn’t _ have an explanation.

“_ Stop it _ .” Keith orders gruffly, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he addresses the empty air of his kitchen like it’s something worth being terrified of. He doesn’t get a response, but he’s not sure that he even expected to. He folds his arms over his chest, tapping his foot angrily against the floor, a nervous tick when he doesn’t know what else to do with all the adrenaline rushing through his body. “I’m serious. Don’t touch me. I could have _ let her _smudge the house... when you told me not to.”

He knows he’s taking some kind of loss here, admitting it to himself out loud. He doesn’t want to get wrapped up in all of this, but what else is he supposed to make of everything that’s happened to him tonight? 

Pidge can never, ever know. He’ll take this to the grave with him.

But the ghost, Lance (as his mind unhelpfully supplies), seems to like hearing him admit it. Keith wants to be mad about that, wants to assume that it’s some kind of evil sadistic thing to beat Keith down to a point where his defiance gives way to defeated acceptance. That’s not what it is though, he knows it’s not because he can feel the emotions that accompany the ghost’s realization. Its existence is being acknowledged and not one of the emotions it broadcasts in response is something impure.

He can feel the warmth that rolls into him all at once, a jumbled mix of emotions being thrown his way and taking over his mind. It’s more than overwhelming at first, but he’s not a quitter and he’s determined to get to the bottom of this whole situation, so he focuses as best he can on the loudest of the many.

Relief. Excitement. Happiness. 

It borders on being too much, really. Keith has never been a particularly emotional person, but these feelings are so all-encompassing that he has to reach up and clutch his chest. It’s a giddiness like he’s never known, bubbly and pure, almost innocent if Keith wasn’t well-aware of what a terrible comparison that’d be to make after what just happened.

And then below that, as Keith concentrates that little bit harder to see what’s beneath the loudest and proudest of the emotions being broadcasted to him… there’s loneliness.

Crippling, soul-shattering, heartbreaking loneliness. The kind of lonely that most people never feel in their entire lifetime. It’s everything Keith can do to stay on his feet, to not let his knees buckle and his legs fold under the weight of it. His chest feels hollow, like he doesn’t have a goddamn thing inside of him. It’s an awfulness incomparable to any other.

And an awfulness he knows well, _ painstakingly _ well. He may not be a ghost, but he knows what it’s like to live like one. To have nobody in the whole world to turn to, nobody who cares about you, nobody to talk to when you need it. Just drifting aimlessly with nothing to tie you down. That’s how he spent his entire childhood.

“I don’t care if you stay here. It was your house first.” Keith says impulsively, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat. He blinks rapidly, determined not to fucking cry in front of the loser who just grabbed his ass like a drunk frat boy. Keith turns away, walking stiffly toward the other room, mind already made that he’d done enough work for one day. “Just, don’t touch me. It’s creepy.” 

There are those phantom emotions again, this time a pleasantly surprising mixture of guilt and sheepishness. Even without the use of words, Keith can tell he’s being apologized to, that this thing was genuinely sorry for the dramatic lengths it’d gone to to get his attention. In all honesty, he might not have paid attention at all if it was anything less than traumatizing, but that’s an admission for another day.

The ghost is sorry for being a pervert. So… at least there’s that.

\--

It’s nothing intentional, but Keith finds himself avoiding his beloved house for the days following that late-night incident. He knows he’s being dramatic, that if the entity was hostile it would have done a whole lot more than what it did, so it’s sort-of just like having a roommate more than a haunting. It isn’t anything to be scared of. And he’s not sure that he_ is _ scared. He just needs time to come to terms with the foundations of his beliefs being rocked, that’s all.

Shiro is starting to worry on the fourth day in. He keeps reminding Keith that he only has the summer off, that the seasonal lay-off his job provides is gonna end soon and then he wouldn’t have any hope in hell of finishing the renovations. Keith knows he’s right, he’s wasting time. 

It’s already the start of August, and September 1st he has to be back to work.

Pidge tries to stage an intervention when he refuses to reply to her texts, taking Shiro’s cozy bungalow by storm on the seventh day. Keith is in the middle of trying to eat a bowl of midnight cereal when it all goes down, the front door busting open because for whatever stupid reason Shiro had given her an emergency key to his place.

“You bastard.” Pidge gasps, always one for the dramatics. Keith rolls his eyes, scooping up a few more lucky charms with an indifference he’s taken years mastering. She stomps over and lands in the chair next to him, shoving him lightly. “Why are you ignoring me?!”

“I’m not.” Keith mumbles around a mouthful of cereal, shrugging his shoulders. Pidge narrows her eyes at him, positively fuming. So much anger in such a tiny body.

“Your phone is in your hand and yet you haven’t replied to a single one of my messages all week!”

At that, Keith glances down at the table, where his phone is settled loosely in his hand. He’d been aimlessly scrolling through Tumblr, being mindful not to reblog anything and alert Pidge to the fact he was online. He bit his lip until it threatened to bleed under the pressure. Damn. A picture of a cat wearing a piece of bread stared back at him. There was no getting out of this one.

“Pidge? When did you get here?” Adam yawns loudly as he walks into the room, so calm about the fact there are gremlins a decade younger than him congregating in his kitchen after midnight. He hardly even flinches when Pidge climbs up onto his table and snatches the bowl of cereal from Keith’s grip, holding it high above her head as a bargaining chip.

“Go back to sleep, Adam, this is no business of yours.” She demands, leaving no room for argument. He eyes her warily, walking across the room to pour himself a glass of water. With that, he leaves, knowing better than to question them at this point. “I’m gonna eat all the marshmallows out of this if you don’t start talking right now.”

“I can explain. It’s just that-” Keith pauses, his phone vibrating in his hand. He reads through the text as soon as it pops up at the top of his screen, as eyes going wide. “Fred wants me to go out with him.”

“What kind of an excuse is that?” Pidge grumbles lowly, but as her suspicion gives way to curiosity, she pays closer attention and picks up on the clues. She grins then, reaching out to poke Keith’s dimple where he’s smiling away. “He just asked?” 

“Hey, I’ve really been loving talking to you lately, but I’d like to see you again in person if that’s okay. How does tomorrow night at Millen’s bar sound? 10pm?” Keith reads aloud, awe tracing every single one of the words. He can’t believe it. Even with the amount they’ve been talking lately, Keith wouldn’t let himself get his hopes up in case he didn’t feel the same. No one has ever felt the same before. 

Keith looks to Pidge, hopelessly optimistic. “What do you think?”

“You forgot to read the winky-face, it changes the whole tone of the message.” Pidge points out, both of her eyebrows inching toward her hairline. Keith snatches his phone out of her view, feeling annoyed that she’s trying to burst his bubble now of all times.

“It does not.”

“Does too.” Pidge argues, crossing her arms over her chest. “Dude invites you out to a bar you’ve never been to, late at night, and ends the message with a winky face? Dude wants you to put out.”

Keith glares back at her, itching to defend the man he’s spent so much of his time recently talking to, but knowing in his heart that he can’t. He doesn’t really know that much about this guy, or at the very least he doesn’t know what his intentions are. Maybe this had only ever been a casual thing to him and Keith was the hopeless romantic interpreting it as something different.

“Well, dude better be respectful enough to treat Keith well whether he “puts it out” or not.” Shiro’s voice booms from the hallway, as he walks into the room. Keith groans in annoyance, long and drawn-out, just bordering on whiny. This is _ so _not the type of thing he wants to talk to Shiro about.

“Ew, Shiro, gross.” Pidge seems to mirror Keith’s feelings on the situation, albeit more openly. Shiro looks the slightest bit offended that they don’t want to include him in their conversation. Pidge somehow doesn’t seem to care. “Adam, we told you this was none of your business! Why did you wake _ him _ up?!”

“Keith looked distressed!”

“Keith is always distressed, he has anxiety!” Pidge yells back, no doubt waking the neighbors. Keith slouches over in his chair, burying his face in his arms. His cereal has definitely gone soggy by now and that is, somehow, the least of his problems.

“Look, I’m sorry for embarrassing you and eavesdropping on your conversation. I just thought you might want some advice. Some guidance.” Shiro explains ever so carefully, sliding into the seat next to him, mindful of where Pidge’s short legs hung over the edge of the table. Keith peeks up at him, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“I don’t accept advice from men wearing silk pajama pants.” 

“I bought them in Hawaii on my honeymoon! We’ve been over this!” Shiro cries in betrayal, a look of absolute desperation rising on his features as the familiar argument came up again. Keith starts to smirk despite himself, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t care! They’re still weird!”

“You know what? Fine. We don’t have to talk about it.” Shiro huffs, pushing his chair back from the table with a loud screech. “Just be careful, that’s all. I know it’s not my job to look out for you, you’re an adult and you’ve always managed just fine on your own. I just worry about you. I worry about everyone I care about. Especially you two.”

“Hey!” Pidge cries out, as if the concern is unwarranted. 

\--

The thing is, as much as Keith had vehemently defended his new crush, he isn’t stupid. He is a born skeptic of all things, especially when it came to giving other people his trust. He is going into this with woefully low expectations, prepared for the worst but hoping for the best. Hope so strong that he feels a heady rush with it as he pulls up to the bar they are meant to meet at.

And if he stays sitting in his car for another ten minutes, agonizing over his appearance and what he is going to say to keep the date moving, well, no one has to know that.

The bar is a homey little place, looking for all intents and purposes like it got trapped in the 50s and never fully moved past it. The building is in due need of some upgrades, and the patrons are all balding or sporting heads of grey hair, but it has a certain charm to it. Keith feels less intimidated than he would in most social settings, at least.

Keith spots his date settled in a booth at the back corner of the room, face buried in a menu and scoping out the options for food. He crosses the room in a near stumble, feet carrying him ahead quicker than the rest of him can move. He’s almost embarrassed by how excited he is.

“Hey.” Keith blurts, coming to a stop in front of his table.

“Keith!” Fred beamed, scrambling to his feet. He opens his arms and Keith steps into the hug, the smile on his face so wide that it’s putting a strain on his cheek muscles. Fred helps him shrug off his jacket, placing it aside in the booth as they both sit down. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks.” He can only hope that the blush on his face isn’t blatantly obvious. He hides it behind his sleeve under the guise of a cough and hopes for the best. He really wants this to work out, doesn’t want to come on too strong or look too easy.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“I’d like that.” Keith agrees, taking a deep breath and relaxing back into the leather seats. He puts a conscious effort into calming himself down and participating in the conversation in a natural way. It starts out pretty shallow and easy anyway, just talking about the town and all the places Keith has discovered so far. Fred keeps talking about “next time”, about all the places he’s going to take Keith, and it feels more than a little bit overwhelming to see that optimism mirrored back at him. 

An hour into the night and their meals have been long finished, plates carried away by the waiter so they have more room. More room to lean across the table, subconsciously seeking closeness as their discussions get more intimate. Keith tells Fred about his family life, about how much his new home means to him, about his ex-boyfriend and how things had gone up in flames.

It’s nice, having someone new to talk to about these things. He’s had the same three perspectives consistently in his life for so long, he sort-of forgot what it was like talking about himself to anyone else. It’s refreshing in the best of ways, though. Fred sits there and listens, stares at him so openly that Keith knows he has to be interested in what he’s hearing.

Keith talks about himself so much that it takes him a while to take a breather and realize he’s hardly learnt anything about his date. He’s being one of those annoying, inconsiderate people, isn’t he? He was just so excited to share, to be heard. 

“Hey, tell me about yourself.” Keith says abruptly, interrupting his own story about his high school experiences. Fred seems a little bit taken aback, like he truly hadn’t expected to be asked, and that’s how Keith knows without a doubt that he’d gotten carried away.

“There isn’t much to tell.” He laughs, smile just the slightest bit strained. The guilt eats Keith alive, and he immediately assumes that he’s messed this whole thing up. “I grew up here, I stayed here.”

“Do you have any family?”

“Just my parents.” Fred answers plainly, offering next to nothing for Keith to work with. He flounders slightly, slouching down in his seat to think. He needs an idea and he needs one quick. He finds himself unsurprisingly hung-up on the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue all night. He’s made the decision not to ask it at least ten times over now, always thinking better of it. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Hey, can I ask you a weird question?”

“Go for it.” Fred says, his gaze undoubtedly wary. Keith groans, wondering why he only ever learnt how to lead with his foot in his mouth. He definitely could have phrased that in a way less creepy way.

“Nevermind.” Keith tries to brush it off, but that only seems to concern Fred more. His eyebrows raise slowly, shoulders squaring off as he leans back to suit Keith with a subtle once-over. Keith isn’t sure what to do to get himself out of the tense moment now, so he blurts out the question despite himself if only just to fill the silence. “Do you know anyone named Lance that lives around here?”

“Who told you?” The response is instant, heavy in a way that makes Keith’s skin crawl. It’s ominous, the concerned pinch of Fred’s eyebrows and the uncertain way he bites his lip. Like he isn’t sure if Keith is talking about the same thing and is trying to find a way out of the conversation if he can.

“Huh?” Keith’s nervous laughter rings out between them, a few long seconds of silence following. Fred simply stares back at him, like he should elaborate on the question. Keith forces himself to continue, determined not to let this paranoia get under his skin. “No one, I just saw his name carved into one of my walls. Was he the previous owner of my house or something?”

“I kinda figured the realtor would have left you in the dark, it’s not really a great selling point.” Fred hums thoughtfully, as if debating how much to share. Keith is sitting on the edge of his seat though, looking to him with wide eyes. He hadn’t expected to find actual answers tonight.

“Well?”

“A couple years back while your house was being used as the local hang-out for teens, some kind of a fight broke out. I don’t know what it was over, only that it didn’t end well. They took it outside and things got bad, someone brought a gun to a fist fight. Lance was the unlucky one...”

“Oh.” Keith breathes out, feeling a shiver wrack his frame. He hadn’t even outright said it, but the atmosphere had darkened and Keith would have to be an idiot not to pick up on what was left unsaid. Even his stunted social skills knew what that trailed off sentence meant. 

Lance was the unlucky one. 

The dead one.

“This isn’t a great conversation for a date, is it?” Fred says quickly, no doubt reading the mood and the grim expression on Keith’s face. “Do you wanna talk about something else? Maybe get another drink? We could even head out if you don’t want-”

“So, it was just a kid? Like sixteen?” Keith asks, because a part of him has to know. He wants to believe his reason for asking has nothing to do with his experience the last time he’d been at the house, but why else would he care to know the details of someone that’s been gone for years? It has nothing to do with him who died on his property in the past, they’re gone now, it shouldn’t be a current discussion.

Except it is, and whenever Keith is alone his skin crawls, vividly remembering the touch of someone or something he couldn’t even see. It really happened, he knows it did, even as the days keep passing and he keeps trying to convince himself it was only his imagination. 

“No, actually.” Fred answers, his tone quiet. “Lance, the one that ended up getting shot, was someone I went to school with. He was in my grade. It’s still so surreal to think about. But yeah, he was only there to try and convince his niece to leave, and when things went south he took the bullet to save her.”

Keith starts to choke on his drink. Fred hands him a napkin, looking deeply concerned.

“Really?” Keith croaks, but part of him isn’t surprised. That sort-of death seemed almost fitting for whatever entity was inhabiting his home. Despite the fact his “ghost” had a clear problem with respecting boundaries, there had never been a moment where Keith felt genuinely unsafe. He hadn’t entertained the possibility that it was a demon, or anything out to harm him. The presence had simply been curious, lonely.

“It was all over the news. Shit like that never happens around here.” Fred says, eyeing Keith over the rim of his glass. Keith must look pretty spooked because he starts to chuckle. “You sure you’re okay?”

“No, yeah. I’m glad you told me.” Keith insists. He’s glad he found out from an unbiased source before Pidge somehow dug up the information. This gives him more time to process, to decide for himself what he thinks of it. In all honesty, right now he isn’t sure how he feels. He doesn’t feel much of anything at all. That’s somehow the worst part. There is no shock that things are adding up, no disbelief that facts are piling up to back his ludicrous theory. 

He tries not to think about that, takes a long sip of his water to procrastinate the conversation having to continue. When he speaks again, the conversation has been at a lull for well over ten seconds. “I don’t believe in ghosts or anything, so it doesn’t bother me. I mean, it’s sad, don’t get me wrong. But I just wanted to know about the history of the house.”

“Alright, fair enough.” Fred nods, very obviously sharing the same skeptic beliefs. Keith just laughs, short and simple, doesn’t elaborate any further.

He doesn’t want to have this conversation with someone who agrees with him, for some reason.

Thankfully, Fred steps in to change the subject after that, noticing the way Keith goes quiet to contemplate the new information. The distraction is a welcome one, truthfully. Keith would much rather process this alone. 

Besides, Fred brings up such interesting topics, tells him all about the local community and all of the places he has to see. He doesn’t offer much information about himself, but Keith figures he must just be shy.

An hour later, they find themselves squished into the same half of the booth. Keith is leaning into Fred’s side, head practically resting on his shoulder despite not knowing when they got so much closer. It’s ridiculous too, they haven’t even had a single drink all night. There’s no liquid courage coursing through his veins and making him feel more comfortable. He just feels good, like for once in his life he’s sure of where he stands with someone. Fred has made it crystal clear that he’s interested in Keith and continues to remind him throughout the entire date.

Like now, Keith is telling a story and Fred is sitting there silently, no doubt listening avidly to every word.

“Anyway, after that Shiro told me if I ever let Pidge try and drive my bike again he would personally slash my tires. I mean, I can’t really blame him, Adam_ did _spend hours putting those flowerbeds in just to watch helplessly as she tore through them and destroyed every single flower, but it was her first try! If she just had a chance to practice more I’m sure she’d-” 

Keith paused when he feels a hand squeeze his own.

“Hey, I know I’m rushing things here, we hardly know each other, but...” Fred trails off, offering up the sweetest little grin, more personal than maybe anything they’d talked about tonight. Keith’s tongue ties itself into knots, quickly forgetting the sentence he’d been in the middle of, and ignoring the fact he’d been interrupted mid-story. God, when was the last time a boy looked at him like_ that _? 

“What?”

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Fred asks the question like he’s proposing something all-important, like Keith’s answer matters more to him than anything else in the world in that moment. Keith feels warm from head to toe, undoubtedly flattered by the implications. _ This guy _ ? This guy wants to see _ him _naked? 

“And go where?” Keith blurts out, because he never knows what to do when someone expresses interest in him. He’s not used to it, he’s used to being the guy who always has to make the first move, and then oftentimes ends up rejected. Shiro says it’s because he makes himself appear so unapproachable and uninterested, but Keith doesn’t know how to appear any other way.

“I mean, the place doesn’t really matter does it? It’s more about what we do when we get there.”

“Oh. Right.” Keith silently curses himself for not being better at this. Fred can definitely tell it’s been a long while since he last went home with anyone. That’s not the sort-of thing you want your date to know about you. But he’s being so patient, watching Keith with those wide eyes, giving him plenty of time to offer up a protest. Keith isn’t protesting, he’s just panicking. 

Is this moving too fast? He vaguely remembers someone saying once that sleeping together on the first date is a bad idea, but he can’t for the life of him remember why. If they’re hitting it off and it’s clear they’re both interested, what’s the harm? They can get to know each other more on the second date.

“You wanna head back to yours?”

“Yeah, my place is fine as long as you’re okay with the renovation mess.” Keith says quickly, getting to his feet and shuffling out of the booth. Fred follows closely behind, sliding an arm around Keith’s waist and practically steering him toward the door. Keith laughs, high and nervous, turning to bury his face in Fred’s shoulder. 

A part of him can’t believe this is happening, not yet at least. He never does this sort-of thing, is always too uncertain of where he stands to make a move and ends up waiting forever for his partner to take the lead. It takes him a long time to open up usually, but talking with Fred is so easy. There’s just so much chemistry between them, an instant connection that Keith never has with other people. It’s almost uncanny, how they seem to agree on everything, how Fred always says exactly what Keith is hoping to hear. Maybe this is what it’s meant to feel like and Keith has just never met the right person before?

The point is, Keith has never had a one night stand or anything close to it. The quickest he’s ever slept with someone is a month into a relationship and that particular relationship had gone up in flames just days afterward. He isn’t the type that puts out on the first date, not that he has any judgment for anyone that does, but it just doesn’t work like that for him. It takes him a long time to feel that comfortable with someone.

They pull into his driveway just seconds after one another, climbing out of their respective cars and meeting up at the base of the steps. Keith grins as Fred saunters up to him, a poorly-concealed smirk on his face. He wonders if he should try to kiss him here, outside, under the stars. That would be pretty romantic. 

Just as Fred is about to reach his side, Keith second-guesses himself and stumbles hurriedly up the stairs onto the porch. As he struggles to unlock the door, he finds himself nervously starting to ramble.

“Things are coming along nicely, huh? It’s been a lot of work, but I think it’s starting to pay off. I plan on painting the dining room a darker shade of-” As soon as the click of the lock sounds, Fred is reaching over to gently shove Keith’s shaking hand aside, opening the door with a chuckle. Before Keith even has time to react he’s being crowded up against the wall of the entryway, heavy hands settling on his hips and pinning him there.

Keith looks up with wide eyes just as Fred starts to lean in. Keith knows he should probably close his eyes if they’re about to kiss, that’s general practice, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He feels like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car, his breaths coming in short shallow little gulps. 

“This okay?” Fred laughs, a knowing sound, like he can read Keith’s flustered thoughts. Keith blushes something mad and brings his hand up, cupping the back of Fred’s head to pull him down even closer. Their lips brush lightly and Keith smiles into it, pursing his lips to give him a teasing peck.

“More than okay.” Keith says around a wheeze of an exhale, on the very verge of hyperventilating there’s so much anxiety and adrenaline flooding his system.

The second he has approval, Fred is pressing their bodies together and claiming Keith’s mouth with a much more heated kiss. It’s desperate and rushed, like they can’t possibly move things along fast enough for his liking. Keith can honestly say he’s had better kissers, it’s more sloppy than he’s ever had a desire for, but he tries his best to keep up with the enthusiasm. At least he can tell that Fred is interested, that’s for sure. Keith can already feel his “interest” pressing against his thigh, hot and insistent just like the rest of their embrace.

A minute or so passes before they break for air and Keith has to pant to catch his breath, but Fred barely even pauses. Even though they aren’t kissing, his hands are exploring Keith’s body, reaching around to cup his ass through his jeans. Keith giggles, feeling giddy under all the attention. It’s been a long time since he’s been intimate with anyone, but longer still since he’s had someone else calling the shots and leading things.

“Couch?”

“Couch.” Keith agrees, but Fred has already grabbed his wrist and started dragging him toward it. He goes happily, relishing the lack of squeaking springs his new couch has to offer when he’s pushed down onto it. Fred rips his shirt over his head before clambering on top of him, returning the grin as he spreads Keith’s legs and settles between them. 

Keith reaches out clumsily, feeling up the massive biceps caging him in against the couch. He’s gone in an instant, any semblance of composure giving way to nervous chatter. “God, you’re so hot. The hot ones are never interested in men, or more specifically me.”

“Cute.” Fred chuckles, then immediately he’s ducking down to kiss Keith again. He rolls his hips against Keith’s in a jerky manner, hard and unforgiving, more than a little bit overstimulating with the rough scrape of denim between them. Keith breaks the kiss this time before it’s officially over, settling a hand in the center of Fred’s chest and shoving him back a bit. He turns his head to the side, breathing heavily.

Fred is leaning over him, grinning something predatory. He shoves Keith’s shirt up around his shoulders and leans down, kissing across Keith’s chest with the same desperation he showed before. Here, Keith doesn’t mind the excess of tongue. Circling his nipples, tracing the outline of his abs, and then following the dip between his hips. Keith gives a shuddering sigh, pushing his shirt off the rest of the way and relaxing back against the armrest.

Finally, he feels himself swelling to full hardness in his jeans, cock giving an interested twitch with each nip over his hipbones. It usually doesn’t take him quite this long to get warmed up, but something about how quickly it was all moving made it difficult for him to get out of his head. 

When Fred moves to unbutton his jeans, he doesn’t protest, he even lifts his hips to make them slide down his legs easier. 

And that’s when it happens.

The thing he was praying wouldn’t happen while they were hooking up, probably the absolute worst case scenario. Keith feels that shiver climb his spine, then emotions that aren’t his own start to flood into his mind. There are so many it’s hard to decipher at first, but the general consensus is definitely an unpleasant one. 

Fred is trying to slip his fingers under the waistband of Keith’s boxers and though Keith has no idea what to do in this situation, he knows he doesn’t want to be any more exposed than he already is. His hand darts down and catches Fred’s wrists, pushing them away with an urgency that isn’t just nervousness and that much is obvious. Fred sits back on the couch, looking at him with just a hint of exasperation that eats away at Keith.

Damn it, damn it all. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I’m just nervous.” Keith blurts out the lie like it’s second nature, hurriedly clambering onto his knees and dropping himself onto Fred’s lap. There’s a shred of hesitation there, but then Fred laughs it off and leans in to kiss him again. 

Those emotions bouncing around in the back of Keith’s skull are making it incredibly difficult to concentrate on the kiss. They’re starting to feel clearer, more intense than before even. It feels angry, infuriated even as the seconds tick by, and for the first time Keith does start to feel a shred of fear for his well-being. But under that, the most overwhelming of the emotions, there’s something else entirely. Something rather incriminating.

Just a hint of lust that Keith is almost _ certain _ isn’t his own… because at this point he’s finding it pretty difficult to stay interested in what they’re doing.

They pull apart and Keith leans back, reaching down between them to cup his hand around the outline in Fred’s jeans. He’s sort-of hoping if he just keeps this up eventually the unwanted presence will go away and leave them be, let them finish in peace. Even though Keith isn’t really feeling it anymore, he doesn’t want to scare Fred off for good. He really thinks this could work out, that there’s something good there between them. 

“_ Keith. _” 

Keith jumps so high in the air that he ends up slugging Fred in the jaw, the man letting out a groan of pain and shoving Keith off his lap. Keith falls off the couch with a thud, hitting his knee off the coffee table and cursing loudly. He doesn’t have a moment to wait and agonize over it though, simply jumps to his feet and whirls around the room. Searching.

“Jesus, what is your _ problem _?” Fred is starting to sound frustrated with him now, understandably. Even the most patient of people have their limits and Keith is pretty sure anyone would be pissed at him by now. He’s acting so jumpy and paranoid that any and all sexual atmosphere in the room has disappeared.

Hell, even the creepy ghost isn’t feeling it anymore. That’s just great.

“I’m just gonna go grab some stuff from my bedroom.” Keith mumbles meekly, offering up his best apologetic smile. He’s not sure how they’re gonna salvage the mood, but maybe they can salvage the night altogether and do something else. They could stay up and watch movies, go back to bonding over what they had in common so Keith can remind Fred that they’re a good fit. “Lube! And condoms. Lots of… condoms.”

“Okay?” 

Keith doesn’t try to explain any further, just scampers off in his underwear with his wilted pride and wilted erection in tow. This has to be one of the most embarrassing moments of his entire life and he feels absolutely sick with the feeling of failure. It’s painful, the knowledge that when he comes back out Fred will probably be gone. He’ll sneak off to his truck and hightail it out of there, hoping to never see Keith again because he’s a disaster of a person.

Keith does go to his bedroom and takes his time gathering up the lube and condoms, struggling to remember what box they’re in because he hasn’t finished unpacking at all yet. He knows that every second that passes Fred is probably getting closer to leaving, but he also hasn’t felt the presence following him yet and he wants to be sure he gets his message across.

He has the lube in hand and is about to head back downstairs when he feels a guilty sort-of cloud drifting into the room. 

The guilt is one thing, Keith thinks that’s pretty fitting all things considered, after ruining his chances with a cute guy this_ thing _ should feel at least a little bit bad. No, the guilt doesn’t bother him, he’s a little bit relieved that it’s there. The thing that makes his skin crawl is the _ pity _. 

He’s been pitied before, he knows he has. Every time he explains his family situation he gets those sad eyes and those hollow apologies. But he’s never_ felt _ another person’s pity toward him in his own chest before. Keith scowls harder. He’s pissed off at this point.

“What’s_ your _ fucking problem?!” Keith hisses into the emptiness of the room, puffing his chest out and trying to look as intimidating as possible standing there in his boxers brandishing a bottle of lube as his only potential weapon. He can’t really decipher exactly where the presence is, only that it's nearer to him now than it was in the living room downstairs. 

For good measure, he throws a punch out in front of him blindly. Unsurprisingly, it connects with nothing. “You think watching me hook up with some guy doesn’t fall under the creepy category?! Screw off, Casper the pervy ghost, and don’t mess this up for me anymore than you already have. I_ like _ him.”

Having said his piece, Keith marches toward the door and starts brainstorming ways to apologize to his poor date. He hopes he can figure something out, some way to justify the ridiculous way he’s been acting all night. 

Keith makes it all of one step before the door swings shut in front of him, slamming into place with an echo that bounces off the walls of the room. Keith freezes, the lube bottle clattering to the floor. 

“Wh-” Keith starts to say, but the word dies on his tongue. There are new emotions being broadcasted and he tries to concentrate on those instead of the absolute terror building in his chest. He’s reaching a point where he can’t deny what’s happening anymore. More anger, concern, jealousy, a fierce sort-of protectiveness. 

Keith throws up his hands in frustration, lost on what he’s meant to do. “What do you want from me!?”

“_ Stop _.”

“Stop what?!”

“_ Him _.” The ghost answers, in that same whisper of a voice. It’s definitely male, and now that Keith has heard it say a few different words he can even pick up the hint of an accent. It doesn’t sound angry at him, at least, but he’s not about to let his guard down now.

“Stop him? Stop Fred? You want us to stop hooking up?” Keith tries, feeling absolutely stupid as he stands there talking to himself. He’s pretty sure he might be losing it. Maybe he should just let Fred leave, he’d probably be dodging a bullet not getting involved with someone like Keith.

“_ Out _.” The anger from before is back now, burning out behind Keith’s eyelids in a way that feels incredibly foreign to him when he isn’t feeling it himself. Something clicks into place then and he lets out a selfish sigh of relief, realizing the anger is directed at Fred and not him. That makes sense, the ghost has never been hostile toward him before now.

But as soon as things start to make sense, Keith feels a pang of annoyance that is very much his own.

“You want me to kick my date out?” Keith speaks his conclusion aloud, unable to disguise how opposed he is to the idea. There’s a warm wave of approval that answers the question, it washes over Keith slowly from the head down. It’s a very clear answer to his question and now he at least knows what the ghost is after from him.

That doesn’t mean he’s about to give it what it wants, though. 

“Fuck you! Why should I? It’s my house, I bought it, I’m allowed to bring boys over. Go to another room if you don’t like it. Actually, fuck off even if you do like it, I don’t want you watching us either way.”

Keith moves to open the door again and storm off, but just as his hand settles around the doorknob… he feels long fingers wrap around his own and hold them in place. Keith yelps, trying and failing to snatch his hand away. This fucker has a damn strong grip.

“_ No _.”

”Don’t tell me you’re a homophobic ghost. I swear, I’ll sage this place so fast.” Keith is thrashing the slightest bit now, like an animal that knows it’s been trapped but refuses to go out without a fight. If he’s gonna die fighting a ghost, then he’s going to at least put up the best fight he can. Nevermind that he’s pretty sure you can’t hurt a ghost anyway. As he struggles, the ghost continues trying to talk to him, clearly not taking the hint that he’s not interested.

“_ Ma _ -” The ghost pauses, very clearly struggling to vocalize whatever it has to say. Maybe it takes a lot of spiritual energy or whatever, or maybe it’s a ghost with a speech impediment. Keith doesn’t know, he also doesn’t care, he just wants to get the hell out of there and maybe never come back. Fuck this ghost and fuck this house, as much as he loves it. “ _ Marr...ied _.”

Keith stops struggling. He blinks a few times. His eyebrows draw together. His rapidly beating heart starts to slow back down to a normal pace. 

The grip around his hand loosens, fingertips tracing over the knuckles lining his hand. A soothing gesture. 

“Married?” Keith repeats, quietly. He starts to laugh, just the slightest bit hysteric with disbelief. He shakes his head, trying ever so hard to find any reason he shouldn’t trust this ghost. He can literally feel its emotions, is pretty sure he could tell if it was lying to him or out to hurt him. But still… Fred?_ Married _? 

In a way, Keith supposes it might make sense that out of any of them, Fred would be the one that isn’t the person he’s been claiming to be. Come to think of it, he hadn’t claimed to be much of a person at all, always changing the subject from himself to something more general. He hadn’t told Keith anything substantial about himself, about his past, his future plans even. He’d only let Keith talk and mirrored exactly the reaction Keith had been trying to garner. 

Keith walks over, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the worn wooden flooring. He isn’t sure what to think. He doesn’t trust this supernatural being, naturally, there’s no reason he should. But, if he’s being really brutally honest with himself… he’d known the entire night that things were too good to be true. Things never came that easily, not real connections anyway. He was just seeing exactly what he wanted to see.

And in all honesty, as easy as Fred was making it to be around him… Keith had never felt all that comfortable with him. It was like he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting on himself to mess up and lose all of the attention he’d been so graciously given. Fred was charming, openly flirty and giving out compliments like he had nothing to lose. But that was where it stopped. He wasn’t nice. He wasn’t kind. He wasn’t considerate. He wasn’t really that much of a listener. He was just hollow praise, saying anything Keith wanted to hear.

There’s a clatter from the corner of the room and Keith jerks back to reality, whipping his head around to look for the source of the noise. He can’t fight off the fearful feeling, the wariness that the ghost could turn on him at any second and that would be that. He’s seen the horror films. He isn’t sure how much of that is true, up until now he’d figured none of it was, but clearly he needed to open up his mind.

There isn’t anything standing in the corner, but there is a glint of metal on the floor. He gets up and walks over, kneeling to watch the simple wedding band spin around and around in front of him. He curses under his breath and snatches it up, curling his hand into a tight fist around it.

The ghost at least has the decency not to tell him “I told you so”.

This time when he heads for the door, nothing stops him. He walks ahead confidently down the hallway and then down the stairs, only the slightest bit surprised to see that Fred hasn’t left yet. He walks over to the couch and Fred looks up at him, back to that charming smile from before. Nevermind that when Keith walked off last he looked absolutely enraged. The act was back on now, suave and convincing, as long as he thought there was still a chance Keith might sleep with him tonight.

Fuck.

“Everything good?” Fred asks, patting the couch cushion beside him invitingly. Keith stays standing, staring critically at the offered seat. He shakes his head, tossing the ring rather haphazardly at the guy’s face. Fred flinches, flailing to catch it in the air.

“Everything’s great.” Keith spits out, seething with anger now. “What is this, _ Fred _?”

He fumbles with it for a second before realization sets in, cold-faced and shocked. He looks up at Keith with wide eyes, a tense laugh stretching on for just a few seconds too long. Keith watches with a blank expression as he slides it onto his finger. It fits perfectly. If Keith squints, it even looks like there might be a ring-shaped lack of tan on that finger.

“Where did you find this?” Fred asks, the anger is blatantly building there and Keith is prepared for things to get ugly. He stands his ground, hands curled into fists at his sides. Fred glowers up at him, tapping the ring on his finger. “You stole this out of my car?! When did you even find time to-”

“You’re married.” Keith says matter-of-factly, dodging the question. He can’t answer anyway. He doesn’t know how the ghost got ahold of it, only knows that he’s glad it did. “You’re fucking married!”

“If you knew why would you invite me in here and initiate anything, huh?” Fred snaps back, a smug look on his face like he’s said something genius, like he’s come up with a comeback that Keith won’t possibly be able to dispute. Keith groans, turning and gathering Fred’s shirt up off the floor. He biffs it at his face, shaking his head in disgust.

“Get out.”

“Come on, she doesn’t have to know.” Fred tries in vain, ducking into his shirt. He comes up grinning, the biggest puppy dog eyes ever directed at Keith. It’s different now though, there isn’t a single cute thing about this guy anymore. All Keith sees when he looks at him now is a liar, someone who was all too comfortable hurting people to get to whatever goal he was after.

“Fuck off.” Keith points to the door, then crosses his arms over his chest. “She does have to know and I’m gonna be the one to tell her. Now, get out.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Fred sniggers, winking at him in a way that makes Keith feel more uncomfortable than the presence in his house ever has. He takes a step back, putting space between them. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near this guy. A pathetic part of himself wants to run, but he’s in his own home and he knows he has to stand his ground here. “You wanna make friends instead of enemies in this new town, don’t you? I know people, everyone here loves me. No one would believe you anyway.”

“Get out. Right now. I’ll call the cops.” 

“Whatever.” Fred dismisses Keith. A part of Keith feels even more disgusted at the blatant lack of reaction, like maybe this guy has gotten away with this before and there were no consequences.

Keith watches him leave, waits patiently until the truck has pulled out of his drive and the headlights have disappeared into the night. He waits a little bit longer after that, just to make sure he isn’t going to circle back around and come back to hassle him. Once he’s sure that he’s fully and truly alone, Keith walks over to the couch and falls back onto it.

He pulls his jeans back up his legs with a miserable frown on his face, feeling indescribably small. He curls in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest and biting down on the inside of his cheek hard, anything to keep from crying over that idiot. He doesn’t deserve it. Keith knows that guy wasn’t worth his time and wasn’t half the man he was pretending to be, but it still hurts. Still stings. 

He really thought someone wanted him, for a second there. 

Except Keith isn’t alone with his feelings. It’s still difficult coming to terms with that fact, but it’s hard not to be aware of it when he can feel the insistent concern battering itself inside of his head, demanding attention. He groans, burying his face into his hands. He hates talking when he’s like this, has always struggled to stay verbal when his emotions get louder than his thoughts. 

It’s just, well, really hard to focus on his own feelings when someone else’s are right there beside them. 

He doesn’t want to draw this comparison, because he knows he’s gonna end up getting attached and applying a personality to this barely-sentient being, but… it kind of reminds him of Kosmo. The way he will cry by the door when Keith locks him out of the bedroom on a really bad day, on the days he breaks down and doesn’t even want his dog to see. But Kosmo always wants to see, always wants to be there for him and comfort him no matter what. No judgment whatsoever.

Just like Lance. 

Er,_ the ghost _. He’s not going to call it by name, not going to act like it’s a person. It’s not.

Keith slowly unfurls from his tense little ball, leaning back against the couch and looking around the room. Initially, his plan was to be discreet, but it’s clearly a failure in execution because the ghost notices what he’s looking for right away. A hand settles on his knee, light and uncertain, like it knows how volatile Keith is feeling right now and will respect any reaction it gets.

Keith stares at his knee until he goes cross-eyed, trying to make sense of the physical weight that he feels there, despite seeing nothing. He sighs, tipping his head back to stare up at the patchy ceiling, where the paint is peeling off in misshapen chunks.

“You knew him. You went to school with him. He told me that.” Keith speaks up, nodding his head slowly as the ghost approves. Keith turns his head, staring at the empty cushion next to him. It doesn’t even look like there’s any weight sinking it down. “Fred isn’t even his real name, is it?” 

“_ No _.” The ghost sounds rather adorably timid, gentle about the admission because it knows Keith is going to react poorly. Keith tries to appreciate the answer for what it is and just let it go, but he can’t help it. He’s furious. He wants to say all of the anger is directed at the man who hurt him, but a big part of it is looping back around toward himself.

How could he do this? How could he be so blind? He knows better than to trust in people that easily, has been scarred enough times in the past to learn that lesson. So why, why would he act so recklessly? Just because the guy was a little more attractive than he was used to? Just because he said such nice things?

“I’m such a fucking idiot!” Keith shouts suddenly, grabbing the cushion from the couch and throwing it angrily across the room. It hits the wall with no impact at all and falls to the ground. Keith deflates the slightest bit. He sits there, staring dismally at the pillow where it lies on the floor.

The hand on his knee stays there, unmoving, just a steady reassuring presence that the ghost is still next to him and hasn’t floated off anywhere to leave him alone with what he’s feeling. Keith isn’t sure why, but he feels compelled to address it, to talk about his feelings for the first time in a long time. It feels a little less final, to talk about it to a creature that only he can interact with. That’s what it seems to want anyway, to communicate with him. “I just wanted it to work out so badly, you know? I wasn’t even paying attention to all the warning signs. I thought if I had a new house in a neighborhood where no one knew my name, it’d be different.”

“_ S-Sorry. _” The ghost says, struggling with the two-syllable word. Keith takes a few seconds to react, but the more he sits there stewing in the emotions that accompany the apology the harder it is to stay stoic-faced and indifferent. It’s just so genuine, he can feel it, how very sorry and remorseful the ghost actually is. Like it would give anything to go back and warn Keith quicker, to fix this somehow.

Keith doesn’t understand anything, but after being lied to all night it feels damn good to know someone is telling the truth, to feel it in his own chest. He breaks then, fat ugly tears welling up in his eyes. 

A string of expletives follow the tears and he chokes around them, a broken sort-of sob clawing its way determinedly up his throat no matter how he tries to cry in silence. It’s bad enough he’s crying, he isn’t gonna make a big dramatic show out of it. This isn’t like him. He isn’t the type to let his emotions show like this, he’s been through far worse and he’s sure he’ll encounter it again, so he likes to save his tears for when he’ll actually need them. It feels like a waste, like something selfish to cry over this when he knows how cruel the world can actually be.

Hell, it’s not like he lost his life trying to protect his niece or something, paid the ultimate price for trying to do the right thing. Now_ that _ would be something to cry over. 

“What are_ you _ sorry for? It’s not your fault. I’m _ glad _ you told me.” Keith blinks away the tears, scrunching his nose up in annoyance. He rubs at his face with urgency, until his cheeks are red and sore, but at least the tear tracks are gone. He’s not going to cry over this. He’s just not. He refuses to. “I should be the sorry one, for snapping at you when you were only trying to help.”

“_ Right. Only help.” _ It’s the first time he’s heard the ghost laugh and it throws him for a loop. He forgets the context, forgets the entire conversation they’ve been having. He’s totally and completely hung up on that _ laugh _ . It’s not strained and forced out like the words, it’s light and airy, effortless. It’s so real, so lively, so clear ringing in his ears. The amusement is contagious and Keith finds his own lips curling up into a reluctant smile. _ “Not… pervy ghost.” _

Keith freezes at that.

Everything clicks then, the reason why it was laughing in the first place, the punchline of the joke. It was sarcasm, the joke was that the ghost_ wasn’t _ only helping, had very much been admiring the view. 

Keith’s smile fades then reappears, wavering slightly as he tries to decide how to feel. He’d sort-of had his suspicions, had felt that wayward lust earlier when the ghost had first walked in on them together and hadn’t had the chance to rein its emotions in yet. It’s something else to acknowledge it, though. 

“Oh? Why don’t I believe you?” Keith jokes, nothing accusatory at all behind the words. Better that the ghost wants to bone him than kill him, he supposes. Besides, it gets him another one of those warm laughs, this one almost a giggle, like even the ghost is unsure what to make of the situation. Keith can’t help but be thankful he isn’t the only one totally confused by this entire exchange. 

“_ Pure intent. I swear. _ ” The smile that Keith can all but _ hear _behind those words says anything but.

“Well, this _ is _coming from the spirit who introduced himself by grabbing my ass.” Keith ponders, maybe hoping to tease the ghost a little and feed into the playful atmosphere. It’s better than the dreadful one from before, and with the both of them so relaxed it might be his chance to get some answers about what’s going on. Why the ghost is here, what it wants.

It’s supposed to come across as a lighthearted joke, but immediately the ghost withdraws its hand like its been burned. Shame swamps Keith from head to toe, a crawling guilt, regret so pungent it makes him feel sick to his stomach. Keith remembers the way he’d snapped at the ghost that night too, and it’s very clear now that his words had been heard loud and clear. Respected.

… and then he left. Keith left for an entire week afterward, avoiding this place like the plague while Lance was trapped here. Guilty, hating himself for what he'd done, terrified that he had messed up his one and only chance at not being alone any longer. Oh. Keith could feel it all now, understood how heavily his absence had settled inside these walls.

“_ Sorry _.” 

“It’s okay. I know. I didn’t mean to be so harsh, I was just scared then. I didn’t know what your intentions were, or what_ you _were. I think I understand you better now, though. It was a joke, right? That’s what you were going for?”

“_ Bad joke. Sorry _.”

“It's fine, Lance. I just needed time to process, it was a lot for me to wrap my head around.” Keith explains. Silence follows and Keith has so many things he wants to ask bouncing around inside his head that he figures this might be the perfect opportunity. 

“Can I ask you a question? About how you were, you know, when you were ali-” Keith stops himself halfway through asking the question. He’s worried it might be considered rude to talk about the ghost’s life, or at the very least insensitive to its feelings. He’s wishing now that he paid more attention to all of Pidge’s warnings on what you can and can’t ask ghosts. What the hell kind of etiquette is fitting here?

The ghost reassures him though, with a pleasant menagerie of emotions, warmth and understanding radiating off of it. Keith gathers his courage and asks the question. “Were you a frat boy?”

“_ Mean _!” The ghost all but squeals, playfully offended by the accusation. Keith breaks out into a smile, glad it has a good sense of humor at least. He doesn’t feel so worried that he’s going to mess this up. Maybe this ghost doesn’t follow the same ominous rules that all the other ones are supposed to.

“Hey! Don’t get upset! You can’t deny that you act like one!” He laughs, running a hand through his hair and shrugging his shoulders. “And Fred told me that you were in college at the time, so I...”

Keith trails off, losing his train of thought. For a moment there, he’d been so caught up in the bizzarity of the current situation that he’d forgotten about what happened. It comes back to him all at once and he cringes inwardly, thinking about how he’s going to explain it to Shiro and Pidge later, about how he’s going to brush them off when they try to coddle him about it. This is why he never tries to meet anyone new, why he vehemently denies every dating app Pidge attempts to set him up on. 

It’s not worth the risk of it ending badly. Because it always does, every single time. 

“_ Fuck him _.” The ghost says suddenly, as if just now catching on to where Keith’s thoughts have gone to. A second later and its hand returns, this time settling over Keith’s and weaving their fingers together. Keith fights off a bittersweet smile, looking to where he imagines the ghost’s eyes would be, if he could see them anyway. He sort-of wishes he could. 

An idea strikes him then and before he has the chance to think better of it, he carefully unwinds his fingers from the hold on them. Before the ghost gets the wrong idea and pulls away entirely, Keith grips its wrist and carefully trails his hand higher. He follows the line of its arm blindly, feeling his way up to a shoulder, and then the curve of a neck. 

The first noticeable thing is the hair, tickling the back of Keith’s knuckles at the back of its neck. For some reason that catches him off guard, he isn’t sure why, maybe he’d been expecting it to be bald this whole time. An empty template of a person, a formless blob. 

Gathering his courage, Keith moves his hand around to follow the line of the ghost’s jaw. He takes a deep breath, realizing he’d been holding one for far too long. Soon, Keith finds himself lightly mapping out the ghost’s facial features with just his fingertips, absolutely baffled by the feeling of something solid that he can’t see.

He’s never done this before, can’t picture the face he’s mapping out for shit. He has no idea what the ghost looks like even still, but maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it doesn’t look like anything at all. Keith doesn’t know anymore. He’s been hurt deeply and his entire belief system has been rocked, he doesn’t want to think too deeply about anything right now. 

He’s starting to spiral again, this time into some form of panic attack as the sheer amount of new information overwhelms him, but the distraction comes in the form of his fingertips sliding across the ghost’s lips. He can feel the way they’re curved upward, stretched thin with how shamelessly wide the ghost is smiling. The smile twitches under his touch, like the ghost is trying and failing to school its expression into something more neutral. Less incriminating.

“What?”

“_ I want…” _ A pause. _ “I want you to feel better _.”

He jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder, pulling him suddenly closer. He stumbles across the couch, falling forward and half expecting to get a faceful of cushion. Instead, he stops falling rather early on, colliding with something solid despite not being able to see it. He places his hand on it, feeling around rather clumsily before coming to the conclusion that he’s been pulled into the ghost’s chest and is being held there. 

“Is this the part where you choke me out and enact your revenge on the cold unforgiving world?”

“_ Hug _ .” It’s a little bit ironic to refer to it as such, but that’s definitely a _ dead _pan the ghost is speaking in now. It’s almost as if it really can read Keith’s emotions right back, can tell that he needs this despite his usual tough guy act. It doesn’t take Keith’s tense and stressed posture as a rejection like most people would, just holds him close until it starts to give way. 

In all honesty, there’s only been one person throughout Keith’s entire life that doesn’t fall for it, doesn’t believe him when he insists he doesn’t need anyone or anything but himself. He thought Shiro was the exception to the rule, the one and only person who would ever be that determined to be close to him that they’d ignore the treacherous walls they have to climb to get there.

Keith is feeling understandably wary, all things considered. He isn’t this easily convinced, this easily won over, especially not after what happened tonight. This is just the slightest bit different than that though, because he can_ feel _what the ghost is feeling. That pure, unbridled joy at holding someone close and feeling their warmth. There are no mixed emotions, no red flags, there isn’t even a shred of hesitation.

The ghost is just happy. Like it’s been waiting for this for a long time, maybe longer than Keith himself has needed it. He sighs, deciding to come out and ask it just to be really sure. 

“Just a hug, huh? You’re not trying to put the moves on me again?” 

“_ Yep _.” The ghost hums, not really answering his question. It’s busy manhandling Keith into a more comfortable position now that it knows he isn’t going to make an argument out of it. It pulls him in, tucked against the unsettling warmth of its invisible side. Keith furrows his eyebrows together, the arm swung around his shoulders heavy enough to be a presence he’s constantly aware of, but light enough that he could dart out of the embrace without any struggle if he really wanted to.

Does he want to? He can’t tell.

“This is so fucking weird.” Keith sighs finally, the fight leaving his body in one heavy exhale.

It’s not a lie. At first, it is incredibly weird, he’s overly aware of the fact that this is a relative stranger hugging him and that he can see right through the solid body he’s leaning into. It’s like a surreal dream where things are just barely distorted from reality. It’s almost impossible to believe it’s really happening and he takes the time to pinch his own arm, hoping the ghost doesn’t notice.

When that doesn’t change anything, Keith decides to try closing his eyes.

Like this, it isn’t nearly as weird. It just feels like someone is holding him, a normal person, no different than anyone else. Without his mind working in overdrive to make sense of the situation, he can simply appreciate it for what it is. He yawns, eyelids feeling heavier already. He could probably fall asleep like this.

He feels Lance shift underneath him, his hand coming up to settle in his hair. Keith tenses, not usually one to let anyone mess with his hair, hates the feeling of fingers running through it and getting caught on the occasional tangle. But instead those deft fingers work to twist his hair into loose and useless braids, letting them fall apart only to repeat the process again. He’s meticulously gentle about it, doesn’t pull on his hair even once. 

Keith stays tense for a long while before finally coming to the conclusion that he… doesn’t mind it.

\--

One moment Keith is floating aimlessly around in a dreamscape, unconscious and loving every second of it. Then the very next he’s bolting upright with a yell, wheezing to catch his breath because there’s a solid hundred pounds of dog crushing his windpipe into the couch cushions. Kosmo, unsurprisingly, doesn’t hear a word of his protests and continues licking his face with such vigor it has Keith’s hair standing up in ten different directions when he finally pulls back.

“Kosmo!” Keith whines in utter exasperation, wiping the saliva off his face with the back of his hand. He gives Kosmo a pointed side-eye and the dog at least has the decency to look a little bit guilty now, using those big round puppy dog eyes to beg for forgiveness. Keith relents pretty quickly after that, letting the massive animal drape itself across his chest, tail wagging happily in the air in a way that makes it very clear he’d only been playing Keith to get what he wanted.

Keith rolls his eyes, begrudgingly wrapping his arms around his pet before it ends up toppling over the edge of the couch in its overexcitement. You would think he’d been gone for months, but in reality he just left Kosmo with Shiro for one night while he went on his date. 

“Were you seriously still asleep? It’s after noon, you idiot.” Keith lifts his head from the armrest, casting an annoyed glance in Pidge’s direction. She’s made herself at home already, plopped down into the reclining chair across from him, laptop settled firmly in her lap like she has every intention of staying there for the rest of the day. Maybe she deserves to after taking the time to wrangle an over-excited and separation anxiety-filled Kosmo into her tiny Beetle to bring him over here.

Keith has half a mind to tell her off, something about busting into people’s private dwellings without permission, about how he could have been in the middle of something she didn’t want to see. He’s about to do it too, but then the events of the night before come back to him all at once and he momentarily forgets how to speak at all.

He sits up straighter suddenly, looking anxiously around the room. Obviously nothing is visually out of the ordinary, but now that he’s thought about it he can’t shake the feeling that Lance is there watching the exchange. Now that the memories are coming back to him, Keith finds his face tinted a pearly shade of pink. Sure, he hadn’t been getting nearly as much sleep as he should with all of the anxiety ridden thoughts plaguing him lately, but he fell asleep next to a ghost? Does he really have no self-preservation instincts left in him?

Keith shrugs his shoulders, dropping his head back down to stare up at the ceiling. Contemplative.

“Late night.” He answers, simply. His thoughts are somewhere else, somewhere other than the conversation he’s having.

“Ew, spare me the details.” Pidge says it before he has the chance to continue, like she has to get that point across before any further conversation is allowed. It’s almost ironic, considering she’s the most nosy person Keith knows and she’s definitely after details. She proves his point mere seconds later, when he doesn’t offer anything else. “The date went well? Shiro told me to check in on you when you didn’t come back last night.”

“No, it was actually a total disaster.” Keith explains easily, eager to change the subject. He doesn’t want to think about it. He sits up, addressing her with a nod. “So, I was thinking we would start painting your bedroom today? The spare room? As long as you have the color scheme picked out.”

“I do…” Pidge trails off, looking anything but convinced. Keith shoves Kosmo off of him and gets to his feet, grabbing for his shirt and pulling it on. All the while, Pidge is watching him with that beady little scrutinizing glare. “You don’t seem very disappointed? About the date.”

Keith pauses for a moment, shirt half-on and tangled somewhere around his shoulders, because now that he stops to think about it… he isn’t. Sure, it still stings a bit that he was that naive, he’s disappointed in himself in that regard. It’ll be a while before he trusts another person that claims to be interested in him. But he isn’t disappointed that the date didn’t end well, he isn’t left wishing things had worked out. He sort-of dodged a bullet with this one.

Besides, it’s hard to be hung up on a shitty boy when the existence of ghosts has just been proved to you. Keith has bigger fish to fry, so to speak. He has to figure out exactly how he feels about that, what he’s going to do about it, if there’s anything he can do.

“Eh, I mean it sucked, but turns out he was a loser anyway.” Keith shrugs, uncertain what else to say on the matter. Pidge is looking at him like he’s lying to her, like she’ll stop at nothing to pry the truth out of him with her bare hands. He isn’t sure how to convince her that he’s telling the whole story.

“I just thought you were pretty serious about him, that’s all.” 

“He was married.” It comes out all at once, mostly just as a desperate bid to get her to let it go and change the topic. Keith immediately regrets it, watches her eyes go wide and horrified, concern for him written all over her face. She’s never gonna drop it now.

“You’re kidding.” Pidge breathes, hurriedly scrambling to sit beside him on the couch. She places a hand on his shoulder, attempting to be comforting. Keith slumps back into the cushions, giving her an annoyed sideways glance. His hair is falling in his eyes and he has his arms crossed over his chest, looking for all intents and purposes like a pouty five year old. Pidge isn’t even making fun of him for it though, just trying to be meticulously careful with him.

“I’m fine! I’m fine, Pidge, it’s not a big deal.”

“You’re not internalizing it, are you? Shiro told me to call you out when you do that.”

“No, it’s nothing like that, I just-” Keith cuts himself off mid-sentence with a grunt, mouth formed around a word that he can’t choke out no matter how he tries. The breath was just stolen from his lungs in one heavy hit, like a punch to the stomach. Or rather, like the weight of another person falling heavily into his lap, careless and indifferent to the fact he’s attempting to carry on a conversation.

The ghost shifts around to make himself comfortable as if he’d been invited there. He throws an arm around Keith’s neck, giving him an indifferent pat on the shoulder. All the while Pidge continues to stare at him expectantly, utterly oblivious to the fact Keith now has a ghost using him as a living, breathing armchair.

The ghost’s hand travels discreetly to the short hair overgrown at the back of Keith’s neck, and it twirls it around its fingers just out of Pidge’s line of view. Well, Keith hopes it’s happening out of her line of view, he can’t be sure. He hadn’t minded it so much the night before, half asleep and seeking comfort as he was, but now it makes Keith’s skin crawl having someone touch him so casually. Someone he barely even knows, someone he can’t even see… something.

And well, in conclusion… Keith’s staring uselessly at his own visibly empty lap with eyes wide and jaw unhinged, like he’s just had a life-changing revelation. Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Pidge only grows more concerned then.

“What are you on about?”

“Met someone else.” The words come out rushed and uncertain, more like a question than a statement with how Keith is struggling to appear calm. He can feel the amusement radiating off of the ghost in waves now, like maybe this was its intention all along. It only makes Keith all the more determined not to let his composure crumble anymore than it already has.

He kicks his feet up on the coffee table, relishing in the way it has the ghost scrambling to right himself before it falls off the couch and Keith’s lap altogether. “I met someone else at the bar, after my date went to shit. No quicker way to get over someone than to fall for someone else, right?”

“_ Aw, Keith, you’re falling for me already _?” It’s spoken as clear as day, nothing like the breathy and strained way the ghost had spoken the night before. It sounds like someone’s talking right into his ear, easy and effortless. It’s something else entirely and Keith feels all the hair on his arms standing on end, his back arching into something impossibly and uncomfortably straight.

What the hell? What the hell. What the hell!

The ghost sounds so casual, like an old friend bantering playfully with him. It’s referring to him by name too, like it’s nothing, like that makes perfect sense. Suddenly Keith feels guilty about referring to it as “the ghost” this whole time, blatantly trying to avoid applying its name in fear of making things feel too real. Clearly it is real, for better or worse, so maybe he should just… call it by name. Him. Lance.

“You’re acting really weird, Keith.” Pidge mumbles, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure this isn’t a Shiro situation? You know he’d ditch work if he thought you needed him.”

“I don’t need him.” Keith insists, glaring at her as he discreetly attempts to shove Lance off of his lap unnoticed. Hearing that voice, heavy with intent and flirtatiousness, speaking directly into his ear? It’s too much, there’s no way he can handle that without reacting to it at all. He places a hand on Lance’s hip, angling his body so Pidge won’t notice, and then pinches with all his might. “I need my_ personal space _ to be _ respected _.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s a fair request to make? I guess?” Pidge looks utterly lost.

“_ Rude? I literally wasn’t even doing anything _ ?!” Lance yelps out, lurching off of Keith. Keith doesn’t even have a chance to catch his breath and relax before Lance is continuing, muttering under his breath in a way that implies he has no idea Keith can hear him. “He’s _ so _ lucky he’s cute. Stupid mullet and all.”

Keith’s lips twitch imperceptibly as he fights against the urge to react to that. 

“In fact, I’m glad he isn’t here, and it’s_ just the two of us _. All alone. Bonding.” Keith says pointedly, eyes looking right through Pidge, the words directed aimlessly into the room. Pidge is starting to look very weirded out at this point, holding her hands up defensively between them.

“_ Alright, jackass, I can take a hint! You should just be thankful I’m not trying to haunt you! _ ” Lance shouts at him, and now that Keith can follow the source of the noise easier it’s hard not to let his eyes flick in that direction. He can hear Lance cursing him out on the other side of the room and it’s hard not to pay attention to that. “ _ I thought we had a bonding moment or something last night, but I guess we can go right back to pretending I don’t exist! Fuck you and fuck your friend too! What’s her name? Pidgeotto _?”

“Keith… what is going on here?” Pidge looks wary, very wary. She reaches out, poking him in the cheek when she notices he isn’t looking her in the eye. “Are you trying to put the moves on me? If you’re that level of desperate I might have to make a Grindr profile for you for the good of mankind.”

Keith’s head is spinning, trying to keep up with both conversations at once.

“Ew, gross.” That’s what he comes up with. Of all the responses in the world, Keith’s brain comes in clutch with that. He’s an idiot. Lance is laughing hysterically somewhere behind him.

“Wow, thanks.” Pidge snaps, getting to her feet and glaring down at him. Keith opens his mouth and closes it again, uselessly. 

He can’t concentrate for shit when Lance is giggling somewhere behind him, bright and beautiful, so very pleased with himself for causing this disaster. Keith wants to be mad, he wants to be furious actually, and maybe later he will be. 

But right now his mind is blissfully blank, mesmerized by how lifelike Lance’s unfiltered laughter is when he thinks no one is listening. Every now and then he lets out a little snort and Keith has to bite down on his tongue until it feels like a bruise, lest he start smiling along with him.

“_ Smooth, Keith, real smooth. It’s a wonder you have friends at all!” _Lance cries out through his laughter, in that know-it-all voice that Keith wants so badly to hate. He groans, slapping a hand to his face. 

“Shut-up.” 

“Excuse me?”

“_ Excuse me _ ?” Lance quips, at the exact same time Pidge does, but with so much more emotion in his voice. His laughter cut off instantly, replaced by a hopeful little gasp that has Keith’s chest clenching tight and choking his own heart out. When Lance speaks again he’s so much closer, likely leaning over the back of the couch next to him. “ _ Keith? Can you hear me? _”

There’s very obvious effort put into this question, unlike everything else Lance has said today. It’s clear he wants Keith to be able to hear him now, is putting extra effort into trying to make sure he can. Keith isn’t sure how to break it to him that he doesn’t need to, that Keith has heard everything. He’s not sure he can explain it while Pidge is still here, staring expectantly at him.

It’s just too much! It’s more than Keith can wrap his head around and he’s just about to his snapping point where he yells at everyone to fuck off, so he can curl up alone for a little while. He can feel how hopeful and desperate Lance is, like the weight of the world is resting on Keith’s shoulders, like his answer means absolutely everything to him. Keith has never been good under pressure.

So he gets to his feet, ignoring Lance and pretending he can’t hear him whatsoever.

“I’m sorry, I think I might still be drunk.” 

“You said you weren’t gonna drink, Keith.” Pidge looks disappointed in him, Keith brushes off how much that hurts him because he isn’t about to backtrack on his lie.

“Who are you? Shiro? Don’t lecture me.” Keith says, distracting from the fact he’d been called out on his blatant lie. He hadn’t had a sip of alcohol the night before. “Do you wanna go out to eat somewhere before we get started today? Maybe we could get some pancakes or something?”

“Alright, I guess, if you’re paying.” Pidge agrees, standing up as well. She’s still watching him out of the corner of her eye even as she turns away to gather her things. He meets her stare, lifting one single bushy eyebrow in question. “I don’t really think I should leave you alone right now.”

“Pfft, whatever.” Keith rolls his eyes.

He leads the way toward the front door, holding it open for Pidge to duck through. Kosmo follows after her, eagerly bounding out into the yard. Finally, Keith takes a moment to turn and look around the room. He can’t hear Lance anymore, but he can feel a sort of lingering disappointment that makes his stomach sink. He feels inexplicably guilty for ignoring him like that.

\--

They find a sweet little family-owned restaurant that they’ve never been to before, deciding to eat there only after noticing they have outdoor picnic tables where Kosmo can join them for the meal. Pidge goes up to order while Keith attempts to wrestle Kosmo into his harness, ending up covered in dog hair in the process. Whatever, it’s part of his outfit at this point.

Pidge comes walking back with their drinks, settling at the picnic table across from Keith. Kosmo is tied to a leg of the table and doing his very best to pull it out of the cement it’s bolted into. Keith sighs, reaching out to comfort him with a scratch between the ears. The last thing he needs is for Kosmo to bolt after a stranger and tackle them to the ground again, because almost no one figures a dog that big is going to be friendly.

“Hey, I got a couple waters for free, but I totally forgot to grab your card to pay for the meal.” Pidge says, sliding him an ice-cube filled water and a straw respectively. Keith nods, digging into his back pocket and going stock still. Pidge notices the horror written across his face immediately.

“You’re kidding.” 

“Look, I had a long night.”

“You forgot your _ wallet _?”

“It’s not the end of the world, you can pay for it and I’ll get the money back to you.”

“I didn’t bring any money and my bank account has sixty-three cents in it.”

“Why didn’t you bring money?!”

“I thought I was just dropping Kosmo off, sue me!”

“You know what, it’s fine. I’ll just run back to the house and grab it.” Keith explains, scrubbing a heavy hand over his face. He hadn’t exactly wanted to go back home so soon, he wanted to stay away for a few days and give himself some time to think. Like last time, when he camped out at Shiro’s for a week. Now that he knows the ghost isn’t something hostile it’s somehow even more confusing.

How is he meant to feel about it?

“Hurry up and I’ll watch Kosmo while you’re gone.” Pidge offers, eyebrows raising. That kicks Keith into action, the promise of not having to load Kosmo in and out of his truck for such a short drive. He chugs down a few mouthfuls of water and waves at her as he leaves. Pidge watches him go, grabbing her phone and beginning to scroll through social media. “I’ll be here. Starving to death.”

\--

Keith pulls into the drive and cuts the engine, but then he finds himself hesitating. He taps his hands against the steering wheel, a scowl forming on his face and only deepening the longer he spends there stalling and biding his time. It’s his own fucking home! Why should he feel so uncertain and unwelcome coming back to it? He didn’t spend years dreaming of this opportunity and picking out a house just for it to feel like it isn’t his own.

It’s not that the ghost, Lance, has been particularly unwelcoming. If anything he’s been more the polar opposite, the slightest bit overwhelming with how clingy he is. Everyone close to Keith knows he isn’t the touchy-feely type of guy, he doesn’t casually hug or let anyone play with his hair. The moments he deems that important are far and few between, outside of sex anyway.

He can’t tell the ghost to leave though, not outright. It’s been there longer than he has and technically it’s done nothing wrong, even helping him out with the whole lying date situation. He would look like a dick to ask it to leave now, wouldn’t he? It’s just not what he signed up for. Keith’s not really a roommate type of guy, and he’s definitely not a fan of anything paranormal.

“Here we go.” He sighs, sliding out of his pick-up and heading up the path. He slides his key into the lock and clenches his jaw as he turns it, ready to be bombarded with questions the second he crosses the threshold. He pushes the door open anyway, determined not to be scared off from his own home.

The initial wave of emotion nearly has him tripping flat onto his face in shock. He’s blushing like mad before he’s even made sense of what’s happening, heat coiling low in his abdomen all at once, like he’s just downed a whole sleeve of Viagra and the effects kicked in instantaneously. It’s the most bizarre feeling, having someone else’s sex drive broadcasted onto you. More than a little bit invasive.

Not quite as invasive as looking up to come face-to-face with a man on your couch, bare as the day he was born with his legs spread, hand wrapped around his hard cock. Keith isn’t sure where to look, can’t even begin to filter the myriad of emotions flickering across his face one by one. This is so not what he signed up for when he decided to buy a house, for fuck’s sake.

The stranger is about his age, tan skin with piercing blue eyes. For a long moment Keith has to ponder if his house has been broken into, but that doesn’t add up. However, neither does a ghost jerking off on his couch, so what the hell is he meant to think? This doesn’t look like a ghost, but up until now Keith had been under the impression that ghosts didn’t look like anything at all. 

The ghost? Lance? Lance is staring right back at him, eyes wide as saucers. He at least has the decency to look bashful about being caught in the act. Keith watches as he ever-so-slowly removes his hand, wiping it off on his thigh like that makes the situation somehow less obscene. 

“Can he see me?” Lance whispers out of the corner of his mouth, eyebrows pinched together in deep consideration. He brushes his hair back from his face, frown deepening. Now, he seems a bit more composed, determination sparking in his eyes. He carefully enunciates each word now, dramatic with how he forms each syllable. “_ Hey, can you see me _?” 

Keith doesn’t reply. His tongue feels heavy and foreign in his mouth. 

“Duh, dumbass, he can’t see you. You’re a ghost. You can play this off, maybe he senses the mood or something. Big horny energy, as Keith’s short friend would say.” Lance is having a full-fledged damn conversation with himself as Keith stands in the entryway, watching on helplessly. It’s odd, how human he looks there, sprawled out and flushed on Keith’s new leather couch. 

Lance gesticulates something wild as he talks to himself and that doesn’t come as a surprise, but Keith finds it hard to follow that now that there’s nothing hiding just how exposed Lance is. He’s making no move to cover himself either, like it’d be somehow less incriminating to just keep it all on display at this point. Maybe, that might make sense, if this ghost thing was working how it used to and he was still invisible to the human eye.

As it is, Keith can’t bring himself to look anywhere else. His gaze is glued to it, his face burning hot with embarrassment. Lance, assuming he’s staring right through him apparently, decides to act as if nothing is out of the ordinary. “_ Welcome home, Keith _!” 

“I…” Keith tries to respond, he makes a valiant effort, but in the end he just can’t. He snaps his jaw shut and turns around, staring out into the yard. Inside his head, he counts to ten a few times over, trying to calm himself down. He can still feel the secondhand lust fogging up his brain and he’s absolutely not going to let himself get hard right now, this situation isn’t allowed to get any weirder than it already is.

“Uh? Dude? Say something to break the ice. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Keith is going to lose it. He’s really being asked not to make a big deal out of this?

He spins around, raising an accusatory finger and pointing it directly at Lance. His hand is shaking and so some of the intimidation is lost, but that doesn’t stop him. He has something to say, a point to make, a line to draw that cannot be crossed. Not ever again.

“Stop… doing that.” Keith squeaks out finally, sounding anything but authoritative. Lance quirks one long thin eyebrow at that, a dazzling smirk stretching across his lips like watching Keith struggle to articulate himself is the best entertainment he’s had all week. Keith curses, picking up the pillow from the night before and chucking it at Lance’s face, for good measure. That will convey what his words are failing to, hopefully. “No. No fucking way. You don’t get to jerk off on the_ brand new _ couch that I bought for _ my _ home. I paid money for this place to be my own! It’s not yours!”

“Newsflash, asshole! I’m stuck here, I would love to be anywhere else! You think I wanna jerk off on this stupid couch?” Lance rises to the challenge like he’s been waiting for it, like arguing is his absolute favorite pass-time in the world. Maybe it is, he seems like the kind of asshole that would enjoy being purposefully difficult. Though, Keith will give him credit, he doesn’t look like he realizes Keith can actually hear him yet. “You picked leather out of everything the store offered! Either you never grew out of your edgy phase or you just_ love _ the smell of dead cow. Which one is it? Be honest with me, I’m dying to kn-”

“I can see you, okay?!” Keith yells, because he isn’t about to stand there and let a naked man tell him off for his choices in furniture. Lance pauses, mouth still hanging open. He sits up, curiously tilting his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and raking them over Keith as if gauging if he’s being truthful. He looks appropriately wary, skepticism written all over his expression as he studies Keith’s.

“He can see me, huh?” Lance snickers to himself like it’s some sort-of joke, very obviously not believing a word that Keith has said. Maybe Keith can’t blame him, if he’s been dead for years now without anyone being able to see him once, but the truth stands. He can very much see Lance’s very naked body sitting on his couch right now. “Well, lucky him, front row seats to the show.”

“I can _ hear _ you too, alright? Not just the stuff you want me to hear that you put the extra effort into. I can hear _ all of it _. If I were you I would think twice about my next words.”

With that, they come to a standstill. Lance is sitting cross-legged on his couch, eyebrows furrowed and fingers scratching thoughtfully at his chin like he still hasn’t decided whether he believes Keith or not, the smallest of uncertain smiles twitching at his lips. And, above all of that, his softening cock is still in Keith’s line of view (which he knows because he can’t fucking pretend it isn’t, he doesn’t have that level of coolness about him).

Finally, it looks like Lance is going to say something to break the tension between them. Keith is waiting impatiently for literally anything to cling to conversation-wise, anything to distract him from what he can’t stop thinking about.

“So... I _ wasn’t _ imagining it? You’ve really been staring at my dick this whole time?” Lance says it with a smirk, with eyebrows wiggling and dipping suggestively, even tacks a wink on for good measure. It’s clear he’s still not taking this fully seriously, still thinks it’s some sort-of joke on him and he’s being equally as sarcastic to counter it. But it’s not a joke, so Keith heats up like a furnace as his blush darkens to dangerously obvious levels. 

“I _ hate _you!” Keith groans out, his voice cracking on top of it just to drive it home that he has the sexual confidence of a prepubescent boy right now. You would think he’s never seen another man naked in his life, which is a far stretch from the truth. He’s just never been in anything remotely close to this situation before, and probably (hopefully) never will be again. “How was I supposed to look anywhere else!?’

“Are you saying it’s big? Thanks, man, ‘preciate it.” Lance responds without missing a beat, not a single second to actually formulate a response that makes sense to the situation. When Keith continues to stare at him in frazzled and flustered exasperation, something finally seems to click in those deep blue eyes. Lance pauses for a second, expressions half-forming over and over again, before finally he starts to laugh rather hysterically. “Wait a minute, you _ heard _ that? You really heard _ me _?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” 

“You really heard me!” Lance repeats it again and Keith isn’t sure how exactly he can prove beyond what he already has that he’s telling the truth. But it seems he doesn’t need to, that Lance is just processing it on his own time. He’s scrambling to his feet, a mile-wide smile lighting up his entire face. He’s pacing back and forth and Keith is standing there hopelessly, leaning against the doorframe. “You can hear me! And see me? You can see me?!”

“I can see a lot more of you than I ever consented to, yes.” Keith mutters, averting his eyes pointedly. It’s the statement that finally breaks through to Lance, helps him realize the awkwardness of the situation they’re in. Maybe being dead without interaction for a few years makes it difficult to remember the social commodities of being human, but Keith is still very aware of them.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” Lance pauses, reaching down to cover himself with both hands. Somehow that does nothing to alleviate the feeling of /_ why the fuck is there a naked guy standing in the middle of my living room right now _/ Keith has been suffering with. Lance at least has the decency to look embarrassed himself now, a shyer dimpled grin directed at Keith. “Ghosts still get horny, huh? Who knew?”

“I _ never _wanted to know that.” 

“You weren’t even a little bit curious?”

“Absolutely not.” The words leave Keith’s mouth in a stuttered rush, as Lance starts to walk awkwardly toward him. Keith backs himself into a corner, holding his hands up in front of him defensively. Lance glances at them with an indifferent chuckle. “Stay away from me!”

“Is that supposed to be a cross?” Lance asks, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. “I’m not a _ demon _.”

“Honestly? You could’ve fooled me.” 

“Rude!”

“Look, I just came back to grab my wallet. We’ll figure this out later.” Keith dismisses him, gingerly side-stepping out of reach and then making a beeline for the table he left his wallet on. Lance follows along a few steps behind, already rattling on about something else. Keith can feel a headache coming on, he isn’t sure how much of this he can handle.

“Oh, come on, you can’t tease me with this and then_ leave _ . Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had a cohesive conversation with anyone? It’s been years, Keith, years! And I _ love _ talking, it’s sort-of my thing, always has been. I’m sure you’ll learn all about that now that we’re gonna be roomies though, huh?”

“I’m going to kill myself. I’m just gonna take the plunge and do it.” Keith whispers to himself grimly, pressing the heel of his hand into his temple. 

“I mean, sure, but then you’ll be stuck here forever too.” Lance leans over, into his line of view. Keith glares back at him. “_ With me _.”

“Are you _ always _ naked?” Keith blurts, regretting it immediately when it only causes his thoughts to spiral even further. Lance hasn’t even begun to form an answer and Keith is already continuing, the words spilling out unwarranted. “Oh, I’m gonna be sick... were you naked _ last night _?”

A long beat of silence passes between them. Keith with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, challenging Lance with his demanding gaze. Lance with one hand covering himself and another awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, very clearly in over his head.

“How do you_ want _ me to answer that question?” He says finally, slowly enunciating each word as if he has to test every syllable, just to be sure he won’t offend Keith with them. He manages to anyway, of course. There just isn’t any way he could have disclosed that information without it being a big deal.

“I fell asleep on you!” Keith hisses out, absolutely seething with betrayal. Lance cowers the slightest bit, shrugging his shoulders meekly. At least some of the confidence has drained from his expression, replaced by a genuine bashfulness that Keith can already tell is rare to see.

“I’m sorry! It’s just the way the ghost thing works! We were having a bonding moment, I had totally pure intentions!”

“Stay here.” Keith orders, much like he would Kosmo on a day the dog’s been particularly difficult. Lance glares at him much the same way, narrow eyes and tongue stuck out, radiating annoyance. Keith doesn’t spare him a second glance, turns quickly on his heel and runs up the stairs. He grabs the first clothes he can find in his disaster of an unpacked bedroom.

When Keith comes back downstairs Lance has taken to looking out the window into the backyard and Keith has to physically turn his head away to keep his eyes off from following the long slope of his spine downward. “Put these on.”

“Are you serious?” Lance raises his eyebrows comically as he turns around and realizes what’s being asked of him. Keith nods his head, stern-faced. “I have to put a conscious effort into interacting with the physical plane. I have to _ concentrate _the entire time I wear those.”

“I can already tell that’s gonna be a struggle for you, but please wear them.” Keith sighs, shoving the bundle of clothes into Lance’s chest. For a horrifying moment it seems to phase right through his body and Keith feels like he’s gonna be sick, but just as suddenly as it started it stops. Lance takes a step back and then grabs them easily, holding them up with a cheeky grin. Keith clenches his jaw, turning away to give him some privacy. “This is a lot for me to process without the nudity.”

He listens to Lance shuffling around behind him, audibly clumsy somehow despite being a ghost.

“I don’t understand why it’s perfectly acceptable for you to get down and dirty on the couch but it’s the end of the world when I try it.” Lance seems like the kind of person who never learnt how _ not _ to talk, like he came out of the womb babbling and maybe hasn’t stopped since. Keith doesn’t get it, he’s always appreciated silence, the moments alone with his thoughts that he treasures as an opportunity to regroup. Lance apparently doesn’t need that, doesn’t need to think at all, just does. 

“I didn’t-” Keith pauses, blushing furiously. “I didn’t get down and dirty on the couch!”

“You were gonna, if I hadn’t convinced you not to.” Lance comes back with, easily, entirely unbothered by the topic as a whole. Keith is fuming silently, staring at the wall. “Is it just because I did it first?”

“No!” He can’t stress this enough, that is not the principle his anger is built on here. He isn’t jealous that Lance claimed the territory first, he’s just… uncomfortable. If there’s any way at all he can avoid this type of confrontation happening in the future he’ll find it. “No one gets down and dirty on the couch from here on out, okay? No one. Not me, not you, not any other ghost friends you have stashed around.”

“_ Boring _.” Lance sing-songs, in a way that leaves Keith wondering if he’s going to take a single word of what he said seriously. Keith is working himself up into a flustered mess and Lance is unaffected entirely, borderline amused by it if Keith isn’t mistaken.

As it turns out, Keith isn’t mistaken. The next thing he knows a pair of arms are sliding around his middle, a chin resting on his shoulder. Then he’s laughing, as Keith tenses up and flies off the handle, attempting to scramble away from him. “Okay, okay, calm down. I’m decent, you can unshield your poor virgin eyes.”

“I’m not a-” Keith starts to argue, but then decides once again that he’d only be encouraging Lance. So instead he sullenly pries Lance’s arms off of him and turns around, only one eye cracked open like he’s afraid this might be some kind of trick again. Except it isn’t, Lance is fully clothed, even takes a step back and does an uncoordinated clumsy twirl to show off the outfit.

It’s nothing special, baggy jogging pants that settle low on his hips and a comically oversized sweater that Shiro once wore during his high school track meet-ups. The sleeves are so long they hang down over Lance’s hands, giving him long expanses of sleeve to whip around through the air. Which he does, of course. 

For the first time since discovering his newfound ability to see Lance, Keith finds himself actually _looking_ at him. He’d been so caught up in averting his eyes and avoiding meeting his gaze, he hadn’t thought to.

He's attractive. Of course he is, Keith should have expected as much, with such a cocky and flirty personality. He was definitely that type of guy, popular in school, popular with every adult he meets, popular with everyone. The type of guy to charm his way into anyone's good graces. 

“Feels weird, for the record. I don’t like it.” Lance says suddenly, breaking Keith out of his reverie. Keith blinks a few times, taking a step backward and nearly tripping over his own feet. He stares down at them then, eyebrows furrowed deeply together, probably wearing a scowl he isn’t fully aware of. Pidge tells him he looks like a serial killer when he’s thinking about something too hard, all sharp edges and creases.

God, what was he thinking zoning out like that? Lance will absolutely make fun of him for it, will probably turn up the flirting another ten notches if he thinks for even a second Keith finds him attractive. Keith is waiting for it, practically holding his breath for the moment the merciless teasing starts, but it doesn’t come.

So he looks back up through the curtain of his bangs, eyes widening. Because Lance doesn’t look smug at all, for one of the very few times since Keith has met him officially, he looks a bit uncertain himself. The smile on his face is small, but warm. His eyes conveying a thousand questions, but demanding answers to none. Keith pales considerably, turning on his heel once again and starting toward the door.

“You wanna talk about things feeling weird?!” Keith scoffs. He scoffs at the very thought. Nothing has ever felt weirder in the history of the universe than what he’s been forced to acknowledge since moving into this house. “I didn’t even think ghosts_ existed _until I met you.”

“I mean, that’s on you. You’ve gotta be pretty narrow-minded to not even entertain the possibility that there’s something more out there than humanity. Like, the universe is so vast.” Lance follows him, eyes wide and excited as he loses himself on another tangent. It’s too much, the hope so clearly reflected there. Keith doesn’t even have to read Lance’s emotions to know how invested he is in this, how much this opportunity means to him. Keith feels smothered under the expectations of it. “Do you believe in aliens?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” Keith deadpans. 

“Why not?”

“I need to leave. Pidge is waiting on me and she’s probably pissed.”

“That’s your nice friend, isn’t it? The one that likes me?” Lance perks up then, sitting down on the arm of the couch and watching Keith get ready to leave. He leans forward, elbow braced on his knee, chin resting in the palm of his hand, eyes avidly following Keith around the room. He looks like some sort of god, perched there so effortlessly. “How come you’re the one that can see me and not her? I feel like she would talk about aliens with me.”

“I have to go.” Gay panic. 

“Come on, Keith, stay? Just for a little while?” Lance pleads, tipping his head back against the couch to pout at him. Pink lip jutted out exaggeratedly, pretty blue eyes fanned behind dark eyelashes, sprawled across his couch like he belongs there. Keith loses track of what he’s doing and has to start tying his shoe again from the beginning. “I’m wearing clothes for you!”

“I…” Keith hesitates. He can’t exactly explain it, given that he’s been looking forward to the very moment he can leave this interaction since it started. It’s hard, complicated, overwhelming, a social situation unlike any other that he just isn’t prepared to handle. His natural instinct in situations like that is to run as fast and far as he can, then maybe reapproach it later once he’s had time to think. But right now he’s debating throwing caution to the wind, sitting down and hearing Lance out.

He’s curious. More curious than he’s maybe ever been about anything in his life.

But in the end, his usual habits win over. He’s always been a creature of habit. “I can’t. I told Pidge I’d be back in a few minutes and this is way too much to deal with in a few minutes. This might take actual years of trauma therapy to get through.”

“Oh, get over yourself, I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of dicks in your life. What difference does it make if it’s a ghost dick? It looks the same.” Lance sounds conversational, like he wants to debate this with him. Keith offers nothing in terms of conversation. Lance second-guesses himself. “Does my dick _ not _ look the same?”

That’s it. The final straw. Keith is leaving.

“I’m not having this conversation either.” Keith says matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument. He shrugs his jacket on, taking the time to do up every button. By some miracle of God, Lance doesn’t attempt to speak to him the entire time. Finally, he turns to leave, ready to bolt out of that damned house with all he has.

It’s just, once he’s got his hand on the doorknob and a foot halfway outside, he finds himself feeling the slightest bit bad. Like, really bad. He recognizes a moment later that they aren’t his own emotions, at least not entirely. It still sucks though, makes him feel indescribably guilty firsthand the more he stews in the emotions. He knows he must have caused them, must have done something to make Lance feel so suddenly terrible.

He looks back over his shoulder, to where Lance is standing awkwardly in the middle of the room and staring at his feet. He looks so small all of the sudden, nothing like the loud and boisterous boy from before who got on Keith’s nerves in an instant. Keith bites his lip. “Hey? Be good while I’m gone.”

“I’m twenty-four. You can trust me alone.” Lance sounds bitter. Keith winces, wondering what the hell he’s meant to do to try and fix this. He isn’t even sure why he’s so determined to fix it, only that it feels like he’s doing something very wrong by walking away right now. Maybe it’s just common sense, to not piss off the ghost he’s going to be stuck living with for the next little while. 

Instead of something articulate and apologetic, Keith’s stupid mouth says the first thing he can think of.

“No more weird shit on the couch.” Keith blurts out. But by then he’s committed to it, so he hunkers down and elaborates further. “Keep it to the basement.”

“You can’t banish me to the basement to get off.” Lance whines. “It gives me the creeps.”

“You give me the creeps.” Keith intends for it to sound like a joke. It’s only halfway there and Lance must notice it, must be able to pick up on the very real reality beneath the words. It isn’t totally a joke to Keith, if he’s being honest. This whole thing is still unsettling to him in more ways than one. It’s clear Lance just wants to be treated like a person, but Keith isn’t really sure he can do that.

He turns on his heel, stepping through the door. “I’ll be home later. Way later.”

“I’ll be here.” Lance answers, his voice unreadable, his emotions raging inside Keith’s chest. Keith glances back at him with a pinched smile. Lance doesn’t meet his gaze. “Get it? It’s a joke. I can’t leave.”

\--

Despite the fact that he’s running late, Keith doesn’t find himself heading directly back to the restaurant to meet Pidge. He takes his sweet time, stalls by driving down exclusively back roads to get there. It’s not even something he’s doing consciously, it takes him a while to even pick up on the fact he’s biding his time. 

He pulls over to the side of the dirt road he’s lost on, digs his phone out to access Google maps, only to see his grim frown reflected in the black screen. Keith sighs, long and hard, and tosses his phone back into the passenger seat. He rests his head on the steering wheel.

Keith isn’t a people person, he’s just not. At least not all the time. He needs time alone, to recharge or whatever bullshit you wanna call it. The point is, living with someone else has been and will continue to be absolutely draining to him. Especially someone like Lance, the most boisterous and outrageous type of person. He wouldn’t understand Keith’s need to be alone, he would just keep pushing and pushing until Keith totally snapped.

There has to be some other option. Some way to get out of this that doesn’t include selling the house he’s poured his heart and soul into in just the few short weeks he’s owned it. 

When it hits him, he feels like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. It’s the perfect solution, a clean cut, every part of the problem will be gone from his life just like that. It makes so much sense it has him laughing, just the slightest bit hysterically, all alone in his pick-up on a dirt back road. Like a fucking maniac. Wow, the stress is already getting to him.

After that, he heads straight for the restaurant, like there isn’t a second to spare.

“Wow, look who decided to show up.” Pidge snarks, waving a curly fry at him. She’s still sitting at the picnic table, but not she has her laptop out in front of her and is working on some manner of project there. Kosmo is tangled up around the leg of the table and is attempting to pull it toward Keith with all of his strength, whining in that high-pitched and frenzied way. “The pretty waitress took pity on me and gave me these on the house. That’s how long you were gone. I’m pretty sure she thought I was homeless.”

“I’m sorry.” Keith says in a rush, hurriedly falling into his seat and dropping a hand into Kosmo’s fluffy mane. It comes off as uncharacteristically genuine and Pidge must know something is up right away, her expression softening into something resembling sympathetic. Keith glances around, making sure no one is within range of overhearing him as he leans across the table. “Hey, you remember that stuff you had? The smudging stuff? For ghosts?”

“_ Yes _?” Pidge looks skeptical already, like she figures Keith is gonna make a joke out of her interest in the paranormal again. Keith isn’t sure he’s ever gonna be able to joke about it again now. Keith feels like his heart is gonna beat right out of his chest and she hasn’t even realized it yet.

Pidge knows what to do with an unwanted ghost, that’s her whole thing. She’s been practicing and preparing for this moment her whole life, it seems like. Keith knows that she could help, that she could find a way to rid him of the latest cause of stress in his life. It’s the sort-of thing they’ve discussed a hundred times in the past, but back then it was all strictly hypothetical. 

But now? Now it just hits a little differently when he_ knows _the ghost, when he’s looked it in the eye, when he knows the tragic backstory of how it died.

“I-” Keith hesitates, jaw snapping shut with a resounding clack. He’s pretty sure he’s bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood, but that’s the least of his concerns. He grabs his water from before, popping the lid off and chugging it down with huge mouthfuls at a time.

Oh God, fucking hell, what is he thinking?! Lance died protecting his _ niece _, he gave up his life to save someone he cared about. He’s a nuisance, a constant grating annoyance, a commitment that Keith never signed up for… but he’s not a bad person. He doesn’t deserve to die (albeit a second time).

“Keith? What’s this about?”

“What was that stuff? I think I might be allergic to it.” Keith lies through his teeth, without a shred of hesitation. The guilt is eating him alive and yet a part of him is already annoyed with himself for backing out of what might be his only hope of getting rid of his ghost problem. He doesn’t know what to do, what the right option is in a situation like this one. He just knows he doesn’t _ want _ this. He doesn’t want any of this. “It still bothers me. I get all congested whenever I’m in that room.”

“It was just sage? I didn’t even burn any? You’re so annoying.” Pidge huffs, taking a long sip of water through her straw. Abruptly, she starts choking on it, eyes widening comically. “Wait a minute, are you asking about it because you’re_ interested _ in it? You want to know more about it?”

“No, I’m not, I just-” Keith stutters uncontrollably, hands visibly shaking where he’s setting his water back down on the table. Pidge is honed in like a hawk now though, eyes raking over his expression with glaring intent. She starts to smirk, clearly liking what she sees. Keith scrubs a hand across his face, feeling so impossibly small. “Pidge, stop.”

“Oh my god. You’ve gotta be kidding me.” She cackles, clapping her hands together in pure unbridled joy, eyes wide and alight with passion. Keith cowers slightly. “Tell me everything. It must be something crazy if it changed your mind on the paranormal. Did you catch it on camera? Do you think I could? If I bring over all the equipment and set it up on a 24 hour-” 

“Nothing happened!” Keith shouts suddenly, hand slamming down on the table and upsetting his drink in the process. Pidge snatches up her laptop in record time, glaring at him. Keith hurriedly grabs for the napkins and starts attempting to mop up whatever water isn’t dripping through the cracks. He glances up at her through his bangs, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Please, Pidge. Just drop it. Forget I said anything.”

“You can admit you were wrong, you know, it won’t kill you.” Pidge mutters, rolling her eyes. But she relents, setting her laptop aside to help him with the cleaning process. Once they’re finished and have a mountain of napkins threatening to blow off in the wind, Pidge gets to her feet to take them to a nearby garbage can, throwing Keith a pointed look over her shoulder. “A demon might though, just saying.”

When she returns, Keith has eaten half of what was left of her curly fries. She doesn’t even put up a fight, just sighs dismissively and opens her laptop back up. Keith sits there watching her work for a while, content to forget about the topic altogether. He nearly has, distracted by a nearby couple that brought their dog with them to the restaurant, a little yappy chihuahua that Kosmo wants nothing more than to go and meet. Keith is pretty sure Kosmo would step on it and squish it accidentally, honestly.

That’s when something brushes his hand. Keith looks down, eyes widening to see a ziploc baggy of what must be the same stuff Pidge had with her last time. She doesn’t even look away from her computer, just slides it into his palm wordlessly. Keith stares at it for a long critical moment before flipping it around, familiarizing himself with it. He sighs.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it wasn’t. I’m stressed out, but that doesn’t mean I should take it out on you. I know you’re really passionate about this stuff and even if I don’t get it, I should still respect that. I’m sorry for shutting you down whenever you try to talk about it. I just… don’t want it around me, or in my house.”

“I know. I know that, I shouldn’t have asked. It isn’t my place.”

“Can we stop ignoring each other now?” Keith blurts out, breaking the unspoken rule that they weren’t going to address anything was out of the ordinary. Pidge smirks, glancing up at him from behind her laptop, a smile playing at her lips. Keith glances away. “I saw what you’re working on earlier and that’s nothing professional, I’m pretty sure you’re drawing porn in a public place.”

“It’s not explicit, just suggestive. I’m zoomed in close enough no one could tell a dick from a nose anyway, if you must know.” Pidge answers easily, like it’s a perfectly acceptable thing to say. Keith can’t help but laugh at just how ridiculous she is, how little she cares what the people around her think of her. He can’t even imagine what it’s like to be that free. “What? I’m not allowed to hunt ghosts_ or _draw porn anymore? Any other hobbies of mine you’d like me to give up?”

“Shut-up.” Keith chuckles to himself, noticing that the chihuahua couple definitely overheard her just then and are making a conscious effort to move as far away from their table as possible. Keith doesn’t actually mind, not really. “Just... say I _ was _curious about it...”

“Porn?”

“No! I mean sage, the smudging stuff or whatever.” He couldn’t possibly clarify what he meant any faster than that. Pidge looks smug, only proving his suspicion that she already knew what he was talking about, was only making it more difficult on him because of what an asshole he’d been before. “What happens to ghosts? You know, when you use this stuff.”

“I don’t know, Keith, it’s not like I’ve ever asked one.” Pidge closes her laptop then, giving him her full undivided attention. She pauses to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her middle finger, then shrugs her shoulders and gives a more honest answer. “It’s just supposed to cleanse the energy in your home.”

“Cleanse? I mean, a ghost isn’t quite the same thing as a stain on your favorite t-shirt. It’s basically a person, or the spirit of one at least. Does it kill them? Does it… hurt? Or just help them into the light?”

“I don’t know, dumbass.” Pidge looks thoroughly amused, watching Keith attempt to struggle his way through this conversation topic for a change. He’s glaring at her now, practically begging her to give him a serious answer and some much needed insight on what he should do. She kicks his foot under the table, grinning widely until he begrudgingly mirrors the expression. It is a little bit hilarious how quickly he’s changed his mind on the whole thing. “Only you would feel bad about hurting a ghost’s feelings, fucking weirdo.”

“Shut-up.”

“Look, if the ghost is causing you discomfort, which it obviously is… you shouldn’t feel guilty about looking out for yourself. Spirits can be unpredictable, they’re not just a minor inconvenience you can tolerate if you’re stubborn enough.” Pidge explains, eyebrows furrowing together in contemplation like she needs to find exactly the right way to phrase it to get through to him. Keith stays quiet, impatiently awaiting her input. “I know you hate making decisions, but take it from a friend? Smudge your house. Keep yourself safe. I happen to like having you around, for some reason, if only just to pay for my meals.”

“Okay, okay. I didn’t realize how serious you were about this.” Keith laughs, toying with the ziploc bag, studying the contents in the sunlight. “How long have you been carrying this around in your bag trying to find a casual way to slip it into conversation and make me use it?”

“Since we tried using the Ouija board that time.” Pidge says, deathly serious. Keith takes to laughing then, still finding it difficult to believe how much this stuff scares her. Even now that he’s had a paranormal experience, arguably a more direct one than she ever has, he doesn’t find himself afraid of this stuff. Lance isn’t exactly the intimidating type. “Keith, it was really scary! Don’t laugh!”

“I’m fine, Pidge.” Keith reassures her quickly, not wanting to upset her all over again. Pidge doesn’t look convinced, unsurprisingly. Keith shrugs his shoulders, reaching down to scratch Kosmo behind the ears, feeling nervous talking about this more specifically. He’s out of his element. “Really, there hasn’t been a second where I felt unsafe. I don’t really want a roommate though, if you catch my drift.”

“So you do believe in them now!”

“I didn’t say _ that _.” 

“Keith, come on!”

\--

After spending the majority of the day at Pidge’s apartment, Keith doesn’t really feel like going back to his half-finished house. He debates heading straight back to Shiro’s and calling it a night, falling asleep like he doesn’t have a world of problems waiting for him in the morning. But, he keeps pausing as he’s driving to glance over, to where the smudging wand is sitting inconspicuously on his passenger’s seat.

If he’s going to do this, he has to do it now before he loses his nerve.

He pulls into the driveway and his headlights flash against his house, illuminating it in the dark. It does look a little bit like a signature haunted house, now that he’s looking at it without the stars in his eyes. He can see why his friends tried to subtly convince him to look elsewhere. It looks like the kind of place friends would dare each other to spend the night. Maybe a fresh coat of paint will be enough to fix it.

Keith climbs out of his truck and Kosmo bounds out into the yard, running in aimless circles. Keith can’t help but smile to himself, as he grabs up the ziploc baggy and shoves it deep into the bottom of his pocket, like he’s hiding weed from Shiro all over again. This is a strange situation he’s gotten himself into, but he’s going to find his way out of it.

When he wrenches the front door open and steps inside, he’s relieved to find his couch empty. The relief lasts all of two seconds before the emotions flood him, like the crest and crash of a wave washing over his body, with enough force to have his knees stuttering beneath him. It’s that same feeling he got that first night he’d interacted with Lance, that crippling loneliness and hurt so deeply-cut that it feels raw and exposed even to Keith. 

Ah, fuck.

Keith kicks off his shoes, digging into his pocket and wrapping his fingers around the sage. He holds them there for a long while, debating his options. In the meantime, he’s struggling to breathe around the lump in his throat, feeling like it’s constantly climbing higher and higher. He’s probably about to cry, for feelings that aren’t even his own. They’re crippling, weighing on him so heavily he can’t bear to stand there any longer.

He digs his hand out of his pocket, bypassing the kitchen where he keeps the lighters and heading up the stairs instead. It takes him a few tries to find Lance, mostly because aside from the emotions Keith is feeling, he’s completely silent.

In the end, Keith notices him in the spare room, the one set aside strictly for storage. He’s just sort-of sitting there in the window seat, knees pressed up close to his chest, his chin resting atop them as he stares out into the backyard. He doesn’t even look up when Keith enters the room. 

It doesn’t look like the same Lance that Keith has come to recognize, this boy has none of the signature traits that Keith associates with his ghost. Bold, loud, bright, flirty, and ever so lighthearted. He’d make a joke out of his own death, the Lance that he knows. But maybe this is the punchline to that joke, that after the laughter all Lance really has is _ this _.

He has nothing else but this place and Keith is trying to force him out of it. 

Keith sits down on a box across from him, likely visible within the reflection of the glass window. Lance still doesn’t acknowledge his presence, just hugs his knees to himself a little tighter. Keith sits there in silence for a while, until Kosmo comes rushing in with heavy footsteps and tail wagging fast enough that it knocks everything in its path over. Keith quietly shushes him. This moment is meant to be a quiet one.

“Lance?” Keith calls finally, uncertain of what to say. “You okay?”

“I guess so.” Lance answers after a noticeable pause. He turns to Keith with sad empty eyes, and a smile plastered across his lips so wide it looks like it’s paining him to wear it. It’s all fake-reassurance for Keith’s sake, like Lance might just combust if the focus is on him for a second longer. It makes no sense! It’s not at all what Keith expected from the boy who’s been demanding attention since the moment he walked through the front door.

Now, when he seems to need it most, he vehemently denies it. “Just bored.”

“Bored.” Keith repeats the word, audibly disbelieving. 

“Yep.” Lance drawls out, tilting his head back against the window frame. He stares up at the ceiling, where there are worn smudges in the shape of what might have been stickers at one point. Now it just looks like dirt. Memories of a family long gone. Keith debates whether he should scrub it off in the morning as the conversation lulls.

He’s never had to put this much effort into getting someone to talk to him and suddenly he understands when Shiro and Pidge get frustrated with him for this, for being an uncommunicative piece of shit who makes everyone else do the work and meet him in the middle. It’s because he doesn’t know how to ask for anything, spent so long being rejected when he did that he’s sort-of taken on a one man vs. the rest of the world approach. Even now that he has people in his life that want to help, would give up anything for him, he doesn’t know how to ask. He always wants to, though. Always.

Even if he claims otherwise and plays hard to love the entire time, he never truly hates it when Shiro pulls him aside to give him heart-to-heart advice, or when Pidge shows a rare shred of genuine affection toward him at the risk of being called lame for it. It’s just… nice. To know people care.

Lance, on the other hand, looks like he’d give anything to go back to being invisible right now. 

And maybe it’s also an act, maybe he’s defensive just like Keith gets when he’s hurt and doesn’t know how to ask for help. It’s just weird to be on the other side of it, to see someone with body language screaming at you to leave when you know you have to stay. Lance looks like an injured wild animal, unpredictable and prone to lashing out if you get too close, even if you’ve made it clear you only want to help. He looks feral.

“You’re sad.” Keith points it out like Lance himself isn’t aware of it, and that’s apparently the wrong thing to do. Because where Keith struggles with his emotions and oftentimes other people can figure out what he’s feeling before he’s managed to untangle them, Lance seems acutely aware of exactly what’s going on inside his head. Fair enough, he’s probably had years to suffer in his feelings, all alone.

“Of course I’m sad, I’m fucking dead!” Lance shouts at him so loud it makes Keith’s ears ring, seems to make the window pane next to him tremble. Kosmo jumps up like he’s heard him too, then saunters sadly over to Keith’s feet and lies down there, head hanging low. Keith rubs a hand between his ears to comfort him, and possibly to comfort himself too.

He’s never had to do this before. He’s never been the shoulder to lean on, the most stable one in a room, it’s almost laughable to think about. Keith Kogane attempting to comfort another human being? That boy is the poster child for unhealthy coping mechanisms and emotional illiteracy. He shouldn’t even breathe a word of advice until he’s been in therapy for a few decades, and even then anything he says should be taken with a grain of salt. 

Keith knows this isn’t his ballpark, it’s so far out of the realm of possibility for him that he’s struggling to take himself seriously. But Lance just looks so… lost. So alone. And Keith might not have all of the answers, or maybe any of them, but he is capable of being here at least.

So here is where he’ll stay, even when Lance keeps glancing at him with growing annoyance, like he can will him out of existence with a few glares.

“What are you doing here anyway? This is a spare room, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Keith says, scared to say the wrong thing now that Lance has finally addressed him. He shifts around on the shipping box, bringing his legs up underneath himself. “I was looking for you. Figured I’d check in when you didn’t greet me at the door.”

“I’m not a fucking dog, I’m not going to come running when you get home.” Lance snaps coldly, venom laced in the words. Keith flinches a little bit when those eyes finally focus on him fully, an icy blue that is far more inhuman than usual. It’s like Keith can see the emotions raging behind them, out of control and untameable. “I can take a hint, believe it or not. If you don’t want to talk then we won’t.”

“I do!” Keith blurts out, immediately forgetting his careful approach because he’d never been very good at thinking through his words before he says them. Lance turns away from him then, glowering out the window just like he’d been when Keith walked in. Keith stands, walking over to lean against the opposite side of the window, rather impatient to continue the conversation. “I do want to talk, it was just a lot to process.”

“You left.”

“Pidge was waiting on me, I had to.” 

“Leaving kind of implies the conversation is thoroughly over, does it not? In fact, I’m pretty sure you said more than once that you_ didn’t _want to talk to me.”

“I said I didn’t want to talk to you about aliens in specific, I didn’t mean-” Keith pauses, realizing that at this point they’re just dissolving into a petty argument. Keith isn’t like Shiro who knows exactly the right thing to say to deescalate a situation, to calm everyone down. Shiro never loses his cool, but Keith isn’t sure he even has cool to begin with. Keith takes the bait like a starving man, rises to every challenge, rushes to his own defense. He’s not good at this.

“Would you please just leave me al-”

“No.” Keith insists, rather stubbornly. He’s not about to back down now that he’s committed to figuring this out. He may not be good at this, but there’s been a lot of things he’s sucked at throughout his life and the only way to get better is to not give up.

“Excuse me?” 

“You’ve been alone for a decade, you don’t need more time alone.”

“You don’t get to make that decision for me, asshole. Besides, you’re hardly one to talk, if you didn’t have a couple close friends that annoy you into spending time with them you would be a total recluse-”

“I’m sorry for leaving. It was a big deal to you and I hurt your feelings, didn’t I? I was so overwhelmed I didn’t stop to take into account how _ you _ were feeling. I guess I forgot that this is probably a big deal to you too. I’m sure you had hopes and expectations for when you could finally be able to communicate with someone again and I doubt I met any of them. I’m sorry, Lance.”

“You’re… _ sorry _? For hurting my feelings?”

“Yes?” Keith tries, uncertain if it’s a trick question of some kind. Lance is looking at him now, with a narrowed and wary gaze, but looking nonetheless. Keith offers him an awkward encouragingly smile and immediately Lance is looking away again.

“You don’t have to act like this.” 

“Like what? A nice guy?”

“Look, I’m not saying you aren’t a nice guy, but you aren’t this… careful with your words. I’ve been here since you bought the place, I’ve seen how you interact with your friends and this isn’t it. You’re treating me like a child.” Once Lance starts to speak, the words just keep on coming. He’s getting visibly worked up, eyes wide and wet, talking so fast his words are bordering on unintelligible. “Your life isn’t gonna stop for a ghost, I wouldn’t want it to. If you want I can become fully nocturnal and we won’t have to see each other again. I’m not trying to haunt you, I mean it, I just want to keep existing in peace. Company would be nice, but beggars can’t be choosers.” 

“Lance...”

“Don’t fucking patronize me.” Keith is pretty sure it’s meant to sound as vicious as everything else he’s said tonight, but Lance’s voice breaks halfway through and the initial mood is lost. Lance is looking at him with a hopeless sort-of desperation as tears build in his eyes, like he’s begging Keith to just turn the other cheek and leave him like that. Keith doesn’t know where else to look really, so he’s left standing there dumbly and watching as Lance falls apart.

Ghosts can get horny _ and _ cry, who knew?

Ghosts can cry a lot, actually. They can cry with big fat ugly tears rolling down their cheeks, stressed creases forming in the forehead as they wince in on themselves and try to hide their face, and the quiet sobs that follow are nothing like the classic wailing ghost Halloween soundtrack Keith knows. It’s real and genuine, pained in a way that isn’t at all spooky, just heartwrenching.

Ah, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What’s he supposed to do in this situation?

He doesn’t know, he just knows he doesn’t want Lance to look like that anymore. All broken and defeated, like he’s given up on everything. 

“Aliens make more sense.” He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, only that he has to say something and he has to do it right now. Lance is still crying and every single sniffle causes another break in Keith’s heart. He’s not good at this, but he wants to be. Oh, how he wishes he was. “I mean, the possibility of their existence is based on science. The possibility of ghosts is strictly spiritual. I’m not a spiritual person, I don’t have a belief system, I’m not even a little bit religious. Nothing in my life has given me reason to believe there’s a higher power out there calling the shots. Destiny, God, ghosts? It all sounds like a fairy tale. Like something humans came up with to comfort themselves through the harsh realities of being alive.”

Keith slowly peters off toward the end of his rant, realizing that he’s gotten a little off topic. Lance doesn’t look like he minds though, not really. He’s stopped crying and is actually paying attention now, wide blue eyes blinking tears away, staring up at Keith in what looks like amusement.

“That’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk.”

“Yeah?” Keith’s a little breathless, but he can’t deny that the atmosphere feels lighter now. He can’t feel that agonizing loneliness in his chest anymore. Lance is looking at him with a fondness that’s contagious, makes Keith struggle to keep from smiling under the attention. Lance starts laughing then, shaking his head back and forth as he does. Keith’s grin breaks loose then. “Why are you laughing?!”

“You sound like those guys that run conspiracy theory podcasts and think they know everything about the universe.” Lance scoffs, wiping his face off with the sleeve of the sweater he was borrowing. Keith can’t wipe the smile off his face, even if he tries. “What? Why do you look so surprised? I’ve only been dead a few years, I know what podcasts are.”

“You just don’t strike me as the podcast type of guy.”

“Are you saying I don’t have an attention span?” Lance gasps. Keith momentarily panics, worried he’s said something wrong again. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding, Keith, it’s fine. I never really listened to them myself, I had friends who did though. I know a conspiracy theory nut when I see one.”

“Alright, whatever.” 

“Let me guess, you believe in Bigfoot and not ghosts? Is Bigfoot scientifically explainable?”

“I don’t believe in-”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a lot to deal with.” Lance cuts him off with it seemingly out of nowhere. So serious all of the sudden to contrast the playful mood they’d set up so carefully. Keith is once again terrified that they’re backtracking on the progress he made, but Lance doesn’t look upset. He’s still smiling, despite the genuine tone. Keith tentatively nods along, paying attention. “I’ve always been that guy, the _ too much _ guy. That was what I was known for when… when people knew me. I’m just really glad I’m not alone with my thoughts anymore. I was starting to think I’d never be able to talk to anyone again. It was like my own personal hell.”

“It’s okay.” Keith says in a rush, like he can’t get it out fast enough. Lance smiles. Keith finds that he meant it, that now that he’s seen Lance like this and understands him better, he isn’t quite so intimidated by the idea of him. Sure, he’s still not sure he’s the roommate type of person and maybe they have more difficulties to face ahead of them, but he gets it. He understands why Lance came across the way he did, he was starved for attention and desperate for human interaction. 

“Is it really?”

“Yeah.” Keith’s voice is completely earnest. He gently moves Lance’s legs aside and sits down in the window seat with him, facing him with a nod. Kosmo pushes his way in between them, resting his head there, nose pressed to the glass of the window. Lance reaches down and pets him, looking amused by the dog’s usual antics. Keith can’t help but smile then. “I’ve… always been the _ not enough _guy. Maybe we’ll balance each other out.”

“Maybe so.” 

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something?” Keith asks suddenly, getting to his feet. Lance stares up at him for a long moment, silence stretching on between them. He looks the slightest bit bewildered by the question. Keith shrugs his shoulders nervously. “Look, I’m awkward in a normal social situation, and this is pretty far from that. I’m sorry if I don’t know where to go from here. I didn’t ever plan on having a roommate, let alone a dead one.”

“... Can it be a horror movie?” A tiny self-satisfied smirk is playing at Lance’s lips, clearly too amused by his own joke. Keith rolls his eyes, deciding that he’ll entertain it, if only because he enjoys watching horror movies anyway.

\--

An hour later and they find themselves halfway through a particularly cheesy horror movie about a haunting, filled with B grade jumpscares and enough character deaths that Keith has lost track of who he’s meant to be rooting for. He’s not really that invested, truthfully. He’s more engrossed in watching Lance’s reactions to it, listening to his commentary on every other scene. Normally Keith finds it annoying when people talk over the movie, but he’s making an exception this time.

“There’s no way anyone would actually go down into a basement that looked like that. Even if my daughter was missing, I’d have to nope the fuck outta that one.” Lance says it conversationally, like he’s totally casual with the eerie scene playing out on the screen. But Keith has been watching him out of the corner of his eye for a while now, finding a secret sort-of solace in the fact that even Lance is sitting on the edge of the couch, biting his lip raw with anxiety for the next plot twist of the movie. It’s a beautiful kind of irony.

“I would. Ghosts aren’t real.”

“I’m _ literally _ sitting right here.” Lance counters, but there’s no real bite behind the words. Keith shrugs his shoulders, tossing another handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“_ Horror movie _ghosts aren’t real.”

“You don’t _ know _that.”

“I do.” Keith says, propping his feet up on the coffee table. He leans back, this time turning to stare at Lance unabashedly, a smirk on his face. He hasn’t seen this movie before, but he’s seen enough like it to know when there’s a jumpscare approaching. He’s pretty sure it’ll be any second now, the scary music has grown quiet to lull the viewer into a sense of false security and then-

Lance jumps a foot in the air and promptly falls on his ass in front of the couch, hands darting to cover his eyes. He spreads his fingers, peeking through them impishly.

“Fuck! Nope, no, fuck that.” Lance curses up a storm when he’s scared, it would seem. He won’t stop muttering now, as the suspenseful music builds and a chase begins on screen. The ghost (demon?) is chasing after one of the main characters and very clearly gaining on her. Lance is watching with eyes so wide it’s obvious he’s invested in the outcome. “Don’t turn around! Oh my god, why would you… now you’re dead. Great, that was my favorite character left alive.”

“Sucks to suck.”

“_ You _suck.”

“Sometimes, if I’m asked nicely.” Keith says it without thinking, an easy response he’s said variations of a hundred times before when hanging out with Pidge because she gets the humor, just laughs it off with a gremlin sort of laugh. If Shiro happens to be around when he says it, he usually ends up with a fond yet exasperated sigh, tired eyes boring into his. He never makes those jokes around anyone else, usually isn't around anyone else enough to attempt it.

Lance doesn’t give him long to second-guess himself before responding just as easily.

“And here I thought you were a prude.”

“I literally brought a guy home to hook-up on this very couch, what about that says prude?”

“I mean, to be fair you didn’t end up doing anything.” 

“You would know, huh? Pervy ghost.” As soon as he says it Keith has to stop and consider if he’s crossed a line in their playful back and forth. He glances over at Lance and their eyes meet, a tense moment passing before Lance finally cracks a smile and laughs. Deep and genuine, totally uncensored, like he hadn’t even fully expected himself to laugh at it.

“Whatever.” Lance’s laughter filters out into intermittent chuckles. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging. He’s trying to play it off as indifference, but Keith watches in fascination as a visible blush spreads across his cheeks. Keith can feel the nervous flutter of Lance’s heart like it’s in his own chest, like he’s the one swallowing down butterflies right now.

Keith wonders if Lance knows about the whole sharing emotions situation. Keith probably should tell him, but a part of him selfishly clings to it. He doesn’t want Lance to start trying to censor his feelings, he likes the advantage it gives him. He’s always lost when it comes to interacting with new people, but finally he has the extra leeway he needs to know where he stands.

Apparently, he’s in pretty good standing with Lance. Keith can’t help but feel flattered by that.

“I’m pretty sure the production quality of movies has downgraded since I died? That sorta sucked. Sure, there were jumpscares and maybe I reacted to some of them, but was there even a plot going on there? It was just people dying.” Lance rambles on rather disjointedly, clearly trying with everything he has to reintroduce the easy conversation. Keith’s gaze flickers to the television for all of a second, confirming that the movie had ended at some point recently. The credits are rolling lazily.

“Horror movies are on a downhill slope, maybe we should watch an older one next.” 

“You wanna watch another one?” Lance seems surprised.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” Keith plays it off quickly, seeing how much Lance lights up at the suggestion. He doesn’t feel like it deserves that lopsided goofy smile, like Keith has done something remarkable just by offering to spend more time with him. It’s not like it’s a chore, at least not now. Now he can’t shake the feeling of guilt knowing that smudging stick is still heavy in his jacket pocket.

The movie they settle on this time is one of Lance’s favorites, apparently. Keith has never seen it before, but the moment Lance notices it’s available for streaming he begs Keith to turn it on. Keith relents rather quickly, despite the fact it looks equally as cheesy as the last one they watched. They chat throughout it more than they actually watch it, and every now and then Keith manages to make Lance laugh loud enough that Kosmo lifts his head from where it’s been resting in his lap.

“I wish I could possess people.” 

“That’s a weird thing to see when you are sitting next to a “people”, Lance.”

“What? That’s like the coolest part of the whole ghost shtick and come to figure out it’s all a lie? I feel like I got ripped off or something. I’m missing a crucial part of the ghost experience.”

“Maybe you just haven’t figured out how yet.”

“Maybe. This whole people being able to see me thing is new. I’m not really sure how that works. If I’m being honest I’m kinda scared you’ll wake up tomorrow and not be able to anymore.” There isn’t any audible reason for the words to strike a chord with Keith, to make him turn away from the screen and look over at Lance in sympathy. If it weren’t for the fact that he can feel Lance’s turmoil and genuine anxiety accompanying them, he’d have no idea how much weighs on the confession. 

“Then I guess I’ll just have to stay awake all night.”

“You don’t have to do that, Keith.” Lance backtracks quickly, dismissing Keith’s offer like his life depends on it. It’s clear he’s embarrassed about being called out on it. Keith can’t make sense of why he’d even bring it up in the first place if he didn’t secretly want Keith to figure it out, to understand him, and offer something just like this. He’s self-contradicting.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” Keith insists, flashing a kind smile. “You did the same for me, it’s only fair.”

“I didn’t stay with you last night because I wanted you to pay it back later, it was just the right thing to do. I wanted to. I don’t want you to feel like I’m an obligation you can’t shake or something, I’m just-” 

“I want to, Lance.” Keith says, with finality. “I’m having fun.”

“You aren’t even watching the movies.”

“I am?”

“Name one character on this screen right now. Go.” Lance points toward the tv and Keith reluctantly allows his gaze to follow. He pulls a face seeing that he doesn’t recognize a single actor or character in the frame. He really hasn’t been paying attention at all, has he? 

“Um, Sarah?” He tries, hopeful despite it being a blind guess.

“Not even close.” Lance sighs. Keith watches the emotions flicker across his face, feels them flickering inside his chest, like a flame in the wind pulled one way and then the other. It’s like Lance isn’t sure what he feels, or more specifically, what he deserves to feel. Keith frowns. “You don’t have to stay here for my sake. Go back to Shiro’s and get some sleep, I doubt you had a good rest last night sleeping on this couch. I’m a big boy, I can stand being alone for a few hours.”

“Do you sleep?” Keith asks, completely ignoring the suggestion. He’s staying, he’s already made up his mind. He’s been told he has a mean stubborn streak and maybe Lance does too, but Keith isn’t moving off this couch unless he’s carried from it.

“I can. I just don’t need to, so I usually don’t bother.” Lance pauses then, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and obviously debating if he should continue. Keith goes out on a whim and reaches over, settling a hand on his shoulder. He’s only a little bit surprised to find it doesn’t phase right through and instead settles on something solid. It seems like Lance can control that, like how he’s managing to wear those clothes right now.

Lance glances over at him with a weak smile. “It’s kind-of scary, when you aren’t sure you’ll wake up. And sometimes I dream about when I was alive and then it’s really hard when I do wake up. It’s just not the kind of thing you get used to, being dead. When I’m asleep there’s no logical thinking, I just assume I’m alive, why wouldn’t I be? Then I wake up and it’s the exact opposite sensation of waking up from a nightmare. You’re waking up _ to _ the nightmare.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. It isn’t your fault.” Lance says easily, and for once Keith doesn’t feel any emotions in his chest that conflict it. Lance really is comfortably talking about this, against all odds. It seems like the sort of thing that’d be difficult for him. Hell, it’s difficult for even Keith to talk about without feeling emotional on Lance’s behalf, and that much must be obvious if Lance’s encouraging smile is anything to go by. “It isn’t anyone’s fault.”

“You were murdered.” Keith argues, his voice an unimpressed deadpan. He doesn’t even try to hide the anger brewing beneath the surface of his words. Someone took Lance’s life away from him, forced him to live in this nightmare.

“Yeah, but…” Lance trails off, nose scrunching up adorably as he starts to think hard about his next words. Keith waits for it, for Lance’s real emotions to bubble over, rage and sorrow so overwhelming it borders on suffocating. Keith almost_ wants _ it to happen, feels like Lance deserves at least that much after all that’s been taken from him. They don’t deserve to take his right to feel too.

He just… doesn’t. “It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t like the kid killed me out of hatred, he didn’t set out to murder someone. He was just young and dumb, in the wrong place with the wrong crowd, and he made a mistake. It’s not the kind of mistake you can fix or undo, and he hurt a lot of people, and I’m sure he lives with the guilt of what he did every single day. But it wasn’t his fault.”

“He pulled the trigger, didn’t he?” Keith is getting noticeably irritated now, as Lance continues to come up with excuses for someone who doesn’t deserve any. It doesn’t matter his intentions, it matters what actually ended up happening. He took a life.

“I don’t blame him anymore. I don’t blame anyone.” Lance reiterates, more firmly this time. Keith narrows his eyes at him, very plainly disbelieving. “I forgave him years ago. It just got tiring, living with that much spite and anger in my heart? It doesn’t change anything except for my own perspective. That hate was affecting me more than it ever would anyone else. I think… I think that’s what happens with these horror movie ghosts. That’s my running theory anyway. They never stop feeling those negative emotions and it just grows bigger and bigger, until it consumes them. I could feel that happening to me in the beginning, when I was struggling to come to terms with everything. It just felt so unfair, like I’d been dealt the losing hand, and I wanted to even the odds at any cost. I wanted him to hurt like he’d hurt me. I had to make a conscious effort to stop thinking like that. Forgiveness isn’t always something the other party earns from you, sometimes it’s a gift you have to give yourself. I needed to forgive him, but not for his sake.”

Keith opens his mouth to argue and then finds himself hesitating, stopping to really think about Lance’s words. It’s clear that he really means them, that he’s taken a long time to reach this point and he considers it something monumental that he has. He’s proud of this mindset. Sure, there’s a bittersweet brand of sadness there, a melancholic yearning for what he’s lost, but that’s it. No anger. No fury. No desire for vengeance. 

Keith still doesn’t really understand it, but he nods anyway. He nods and swallows around the choked up feeling in his throat. As much as he wishes Lance’s situation were different, it just isn’t. It’ll never be. And maybe Lance is a lot wiser and more insightful than Keith has given him credit for, if he’s somehow come to terms with that.

“It’s still a shame, you seem like you had a lot to offer the world.” Keith says, gently. He’s uncertain if it’ll come across the way he wants it to. A part of him is tempted to say nothing at all and just nod along, but he feels compelled to say it. He means it. It really is a shame that more people aren’t going to get to hear Lance’s thoughts on this, on everything really.

It’s the right thing to say. Keith knows that immediately, for once in his life. He feels the flood of warmth and affection as if it were his own, and maybe some of it is. Even before he turns to look at Lance, it’s like he knows what to expect, like he can feel his own face struggling to fight off a mirroring smile. How can he not? How can he not smile when he can_ feel _ the adoration in Lance’s heart? 

But then he _ does _turn to look at him, and Keith’s mind goes abruptly blank. 

Lance's gaze is so very soft, filled with a level of admiration that Keith hardly feels like he deserves. And that blinding smile, accompanied by dimpled and blushing cheeks, so very fond. 

And Keith can fucking feel it. He can feel what Lance is feeling, so wholly in his chest that it’s hard to decipher where his own emotions start and end. That's the part that gets to him more than anything else. There isn't even a _ word _ for the emotion being broadcasted into his chest, it's too complicated and too simple all at once to be defined. 

It's grade school, when you sneak glances at your very first crush across the playground. Its pure and innocent and so, so, so sweet. Sweet enough that Keith feels the same sensation as a sugar rush. 

“Maybe the world will never get to hear what I have to say, but at least _ you _ will.” 

Oh no. Oh fuck. Things have taken a Turn For The Worse.

Since moving into the house it’s been a bit of a rollercoaster from bad to worse, then occasionally back to better. But there’s never been a moment like this where Keith feels his heart drop to somewhere in his feet, the absolute and utter feeling of knowing he’s gotten himself in way over his head. 

He has acute memories of Shiro teaching him to swim, him rushing out over his head with a fearlessness that was innately younger Keith, and then nearly drowning himself. This is like that. Except his lungs aren’t constricting around water, but instead something _ much _kinder.

“I, um-” 

“Yeah?”

“Fred told me-”

“His name is Josh.” Lance corrects him knowingly, with a groan that exudes annoyance. Keith has to stop himself from laughing at it, because it’s just such a contradiction to the long winded speech he’d only just given about forgiveness. Lance leans back, sprawling himself across the couch and staring angrily up at the ceiling. “He was my highschool bully, by the way. He called me stupid constantly because of my poor written English. Nevermind that it was my _ second _ language!”

“Is that why you were so ticked off when I brought him home?”

“Part of it.” Lance starts to smirk, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He hasn’t even said anything yet and already Keith is shaking his head, prepared for what’s about to come. Unlike how indecisive he is about expressing his emotions, Lance is comfortably predictable when it comes to flirting. He’s straightforward, but not overbearing like some men that have come onto Keith in the past. It’s just an open offer, with no pressure to accept it. “Pretty sure I would have been ticked off no matter who you brought through that door, though. I’m a jealous person by nature.”

“_ Anyway _-”

“Yeah, continue, I’m curious.” He chuckles, confidence only growing the more flustered Keith gets around him. He shuffles closer, to the middle cushion of the couch that’s been inhabited by Kosmo most of the night. Keith watches with what he hopes looks like begrudging amusement as Lance makes a show of yawning then dropping his arm along the back of the couch, around Keith’s shoulders. Keith doesn’t call him out on it, just rolls his eyes and plays along. “What did _ Fred _ tell you?”

Keith hesitates for a moment. He just doesn’t want to miss this opportunity to bring it up, isn’t sure if the right one will ever come anyway, and this might be the closest he gets. He has to know. He has to hear it from Lance.

“He told me that you died protecting your niece.” Keith says in a rush, wincing afterward as he waits for the tension to form between them. He fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, tentatively allowing his gaze to trail over to Lance’s lap, and then slowly up to his face. He looks pensive. “Is that… true?”

“Nadia.” Lance says the name like it’s something sacred. “Her name is Nadia, my niece.”

A long beat of silence follows and Keith begins to worry. Lance is simply staring off into space, so very far away from the whole interaction. Keith leans back into his arm, allowing it to fall properly around his shoulders. Lance blinks a few times, turning to look at him with a bemused expression.

“Hey, if I was out of line for asking about it just let me kn-”

“I was the favorite uncle, my greatest achievement. Every time she told me I was her favorite, it just felt like I’d done everything right. We were both the babies of our families, we understood each other. For the first few years of her life it felt like it was my duty to make sure she was always happy and laughing. Then she got to that age where you can’t control that stuff with ice cream or tea parties, so I couldn’t_ make _ her happy, but I could be there for her when she wasn’t. I was always there for her. Especially that night.”

“What happened?”

“She was kind of a wild teenager, overprotective parents that constantly praised her straight and narrow big brother and all. So I was always the one she turned to when she needed help, help with stuff her parents wouldn’t understand. She woke me up at 3am that night with a phone call and even before I picked up the phone, it was like I knew? I knew it was bad, I knew she needed me more than ever before. So I went. I didn’t even think twice about the danger until it was too late.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” Lance says, like it’s a reflex. He doesn’t even have to think on it, doesn’t have to weigh the options, he knows his answer like it’s a part of him. “Do I wish I was still alive? Obviously. But I don’t think I’d do it differently, even if I knew I was gonna wind up dead. It could have been her, if I wasn’t there.”

“You must really love your family.”

“I did.” As soon as he says it, Lance winces like he’s in pain. He squeezes his eyes shut, looking toward the ceiling to coaxe tears back inside. It’s painful to watch, his internal struggle with himself as he tries to keep it together while he talks about them. Keith can tell he doesn’t want it to be like this, for something so important to him that brings him so much happiness to be so painful to talk about. It really isn’t fair and Keith finds his own heart racing, wishing he could do something. “I mean, I still do. _ I do _. Love them.”

“Tell me about them?” Keith ventures.

“You wouldn’t mind?” Lance sounds so hopeful, like Keith has just offered him the world on a silver platter and he isn’t sure if he deserves it. Keith just nods, not trusting himself to form words right now that aren’t condemning. Keith is emotionally invested in this, enough so that Lance would probably pick up on it and ask questions. It’s just, Keith can’t help but care now. Now that he knows Lance and his stories, all the things he gave up. “I have a huge family, Keith. This could take all night.”

“Then it takes all night.” Keith says again, making a show of getting comfortable. Lance doesn’t fight him this time, just gives a playful shove to his side. It seems he’s too excited about this opportunity to ruin it for himself by trying to send Keith away. Keith is glad it didn’t come to Lance dragging him out of the house because he really had no intentions of leaving here tonight. Lance just looks too vulnerable, like he needs a friend. Has maybe needed one for a long time.

“I have four siblings. Marco, Luis, Veronica, and Rachel. Luis is the warm-hearted one that has his shit together, Marco is the artistic one that inspires everyone, Veronica is the control freak that is scary good at anything she tries to do, and Rachel is the whiney one and bane of my existence. I was the goofball, the baby.” 

“My pops wasn’t really around much, but he wasn’t absent by choice. He left because he had to, in order to support us. I know that he wished he could be home just as much as we wished for it. He loved us all so much, he wrote letters every single week to tell us. It was a whole thing, we’d all sit down and read them together. He was only home a few weeks of the year but those were always the best weeks, seeing how he fit right back into the family, seeing Mamá so happy.” 

“My mother... is a powerhouse of a woman. She never took anyone’s shit, lived exactly as she pleased, and she never backed down. But more than all of that, she was kind. The kind of kind where you look at her and you can’t believe that there are people out there with a heart that good, you know? The world is shit and there are so many bad people out there, but there she was. Being so good just to spite them all, to show them how it was done. She wasn’t just good, she was the best. The best of all of us.”

“Everyone teased me my entire life for being such a suck-up, all I ever wanted to do was hang-out with Mamá in the kitchen, help her do all the chores, run errands with her at the shops. Everywhere she went I trailed behind, my entire childhood. She was my superhero, you know? Some kids have Superman or Ironman, I had her. All of the responsibility of actually raising five children and keeping us alive fell onto my mamá’s shoulders and she never even let it show how hard that was, not once.”

When Lance finally stops speaking, it doesn’t seem like it was where he planned to stop. It’s more like he simply ran out of breath, despite the fact that Keith is pretty sure ghosts don’t need to breathe. The reaction is much the same though, Lance stopping abruptly, looking frazzled and overwhelmed. Maybe it’s less about running out of breath and more about reaching the limit of what he could handle.

Despite seeming so composed the entire time, suddenly Lance looks like an elastic pulled too taut, wearing away under the pressure bit by bit. Maybe he wasn’t stretched that thin all at once, but every passing second seemed to add to the amounting stress on his shoulders. Keith isn’t sure how to help, if he’s even capable of it.

“They sound like amazing people.” Keith whispers. “You’re really lucky to have a family like that.”

“You wanna know the hardest part?“ Lance’s voice cracks. Keith doesn’t want to push him if he doesn’t feel up to sharing, but he tentatively nods anyway. “Everyone scattered after he took the shot, so it was just me and Nadia, all alone at this creepy fucking house. She was holding me and just screaming, sobbing so hard she could hardly breathe. I think it was pretty clear I wasn’t gonna make it, the bullet hit exactly where it needed to, considering the kid had never actually used a gun in his life. I knew I was dying. And I… I was only worried about her. About them.” 

“Lance.” Keith breathes his name like a sigh, pained.

“Pops was the provider, Mama was the hero, Luis was the role model, Marco was the creative one, Veronica was the smart one, Rachel was the emotional one, and_ I _ was the funny one. It was my _ job _ to be the funny one, always happy, always making everyone laugh. Who was gonna make them laugh through all the pain my death was gonna bring? What were they gonna do without me?”

He looks the slightest bit hysteric all of the sudden

“Hey, it’s okay.” Keith says, placing a hand on his cheek. Lance turns away from him though, retreating from everywhere they’re touching and instead curling up at the end of the couch. Above them, the lights start to flicker, on and off. Keith is pretty damn sure it isn’t an electrical issue, he’s had the professionals in. And there’s just something about it. He can feel Lance’s emotions, it wouldn’t surprise him all that much if the rest of the universe could too. It’s an energy thing probably, Keith doesn’t know. He’s not a ghost person.

He’s just a person, and Lance is just another one in desperate need of comforting. The ghost thing doesn’t distract him from that as much as you’d think.

Keith turns to him again, stubbornly moving close despite the body language Lance is displaying. He leans in, gingerly wrapping his arms around Lance’s trembling form. He can’t see his face from this angle and he supposes that might have been the point, but it frustrates him nonetheless. He can feel Lance’s emotions, desolate and distraught as they are, there’s nothing he’s gonna see in the expression he’s wearing that will scare him off. 

When Lance doesn’t seem to freak out more in response to the hug, Keith tightens his grip on him and pulls him into his chest. He reaches down, prying his hand in close to Lance’s face and finally cupping his damp cheek. It’s not that he didn’t expect him to be crying, it’s just something else to feel the wetness of it on his palm. “Lance, it’s okay, look at me.”

“What _ did _ they do without me?!” Lance whispers, urgency in his voice. Above them, the lightbulb flickers a few more times and then abruptly shuts off and stays that way. Lance trembles against him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. A few minutes pass like this, Keith awkwardly holding him as close as he will allow, waiting for the right thing to do or say to come to his mind.

It never does. But apparently it didn’t need to. Lance calms down on his own, even lifts his head and has the nerve to look thankful like Keith played a part in it. Keith didn’t do anything. He was just there, silent and tense, uncertainty eating him alive. 

Lance lifts his head, just enough for their eyes to meet. “I’ll never_ know. _ I’ll never be able to help them. And _ that _is the hardest part.”

“You gave literally everything you could. I’m sure they realize that.” Keith says, his voice firm. There’s an underlying confidence there that isn’t always like him, but when it comes to this he’s very certain. He’s hardly even known Lance for twenty-four hours really, but he knows the type of person he is. Loud and obnoxious, but so caring that it leaves you in awe. Keith is sure he’s always been that loud about how he cares, possibly even louder. There’s no way his family wouldn’t see that and love that about him. 

“I hope so.” Lance sighs. “I’d give more if I could.” 

“You don’t have to tell me that, I know.” Keith assures him, giving him a pat on the back as they separate from their hug. Lance straightens up with a stretch, falling back into the cushions with ease. He’s looking up at Keith through his long lashes now, blue eyes dark with amusement.

It’s like the flick of a switch, Lance’s vulnerability is gone on the surface and replaced with an air of faux confidence that’s so convincing Keith would have whiplash right now. You know, if it weren’t for the fact that he can tell that it’s all a big fat lie. Lance is still shaking like a leaf in a rainstorm on the inside, even as he wipes his expression clean and starts over. Flirty, confident, easy. 

In Keith’s chest, he can still _ feel _ the raw hurt of it all, even underneath the layers of bandaids Lance keeps plastering overtop. 

“What can I say? I’m definitely a giver.” Lance drawls lowly, a flash of sharp white teeth in the form of a smirk and Keith feels like a lamb to slaughter. God, no one has ever flirted with Keith so relentlessly in his life. People lose interest, realize what a piece of work he is and give up on him early, or they come on too strong and annoy the piss out of Keith and then it results in a fight. No one has ever displayed their interest in him like this, casual and easy, background noise to the rest of their relationship.

It’s weird. It’s weird how not weird it is. It’s especially weird how not weird it is when Lance is a _ ghost _.

“Don’t try to fucking flirt with me right now, you animal.” Keith laughs, shaking his head and dismissing it as solely a joke. He knows it isn’t. Sure, it’s an act urgently plastered on to hide his real emotions, but his attraction to Keith doesn’t feel like a joke. Lance isn’t getting entertainment out of this, isn’t treating it like a joke on the inside. He can feel the way Lance’s gaze is glued to him, can feel the infatuation that must spread through Lance’s chest when Keith reacts semi-positively. He’s hanging on to every reaction, every word. Keith doesn’t know what to make of it.

“I’m _ just _ trying to lighten the mood.” 

“You don’t have to.” Keith says without thinking it through. Lance casts him a wary sideways glance, a single skinny eyebrow climbing toward his hairline. Keith chuckles, trying to explain. “I know that’s like your thing or whatever and you’re very proud of it, but you don’t always have to. Sometimes you can just express your emotions and leave them that way. You don’t have to make excuses or change the subject. It’s not… a burden. I don’t consider it an obligation. If that’s what you think.”

Keith stares at him openly, trying to extend a hand in case Lance has anything else he wants to share. But he’s doubting himself, because Lance has turned away from him now and is staring stubbornly toward the floor. His emotions are a confusing whirlwind and it’s beyond Keith to try and decipher it this time, given he’s never felt anything remotely close to strong enough to compare. 

Keith doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong until Lance shrinks in on himself, hiding his face behind the collar of his sweater. Not before Keith catches a glance of the pink blush he’s wearing, though.

“And you say _ I’m _ the flirt.” Lance mumbles, puffing his cheeks out. “Say stuff like that and expect me not to fall in love with you, okay, sure.”

It’s said like another one of Lance’s usual jokes.

It isn’t a joke.

Keith can_ feel _how much it isn’t a joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will warn you, the second chapter is actually longer than the first. you are not halfway through the fic yet lol!!
> 
> @melancholymango is my main acc on twitter/tumblr  
@redgaysonly is my nsfw acc on twitter where i post mostly klance and ngl it's better than my main acc


	2. Chapter 2

So, Lance thinks he’s in love with Keith. That’s fine! Great, even. Keith doesn’t mind. It doesn’t really make him uncomfortable as it makes him feel incredibly… flustered. He’s never had someone confess their feelings to him before and even though Lance hadn’t by choice, the fact is that Keith knows he’s feeling some variation of romantic love toward him.

But in reality, he’s probably making a big deal out of nothing. Lance has been lonely for a long time and it’s very possible he’s just clinging to the first human interaction he’s had in years. He’ll probably realize with time that the feelings were just blown out of proportion, that he was idealizing Keith for doing the bare minimum. Hell, Keith hadn’t really done anything to be deserving of _ those _ feelings. He just listened to Lance talk, watched a couple movies with him, tried to comfort him when he was obviously in crisis. What’s so special about any of that?

Yeah, no. Lance can do better. He’s a ghost and he’s dead and quite possibly will never be able to interact with anyone else ever again, but he can _ still _ do better than Keith.

\--

There’s just one tiny problem with the whole thing.

Remember when Keith said he hasn’t always been the greatest at discerning his_ own _feelings? 

Now that he’s started thinking about Lance in that context, it haunts him. It has him second-guessing everything he does in Lance’s presence, and though he’d love to be able to say it’s just because he’s worried about unintentionally leading Lance on, he knows that’s not the whole story.

\--

Keith spends the entire night thinking about it, while Lance happily watches movies or chatters on to him about his family. Keith listens, he’s not a terrible person and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find the topic interesting. He just doesn’t say much. Partly because he doesn’t feel he has anything to add, but mostly because he’s scared of saying the wrong (right?) thing and causing Lance to feel that bloom of warmth in his chest again. Keith’s not sure he could take it a second time around.

Sometime between sunrise and noon, exhaustion won the fight and Keith accidentally fell asleep right there on the couch next to Lance. That was to be expected, probably. It still comes as a shock when he wakes up with a hand settled in his hair. His fight or flight kicks in long before common sense. His eyes fly open and he’s on his feet in an instant, nearly tripping over the coffee table in his haste.

It isn’t until he’s standing and panting for breath, that the situation dawns on Keith. 

Lance is still sitting on the couch, hand poised in the air like it hasn’t moved since Keith slinked out from under it like a startled cat. There’s this expression on Lance’s face, definitely amused, a little bit exasperated, and just a hint of fondness like he understands and accepts Keith all the same. It’s not like it’s his fault anyway, he’s just so very touch-starved and detached from human contact that when he finally gets it, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Mornin’.” Lance mumbles, trying pointlessly to fight the smile from his face. Keith stares at him, his throat feeling indescribably dry. He can’t bring himself to speak, doesn’t trust what he’d say when he’s so freshly back from unconsciousness. Lance’s emotions are aflutter in Keith’s head, so loud and all over the place that his sleep-addled brain can hardly keep up. They’re contradictory and uncertain, flicking back and forth between confidence and insecurity. He’s trying to gauge Keith’s reaction fully before he decides how he feels about being caught.

But the smile on his face stays through it all, what would be a convincing level of optimism if Keith couldn’t feel all the doubt underneath it.

“Um. Good morning.” Keith spits out finally, immediately curses himself for how shaky his own voice sounds. He’s supposed to be playing it cool. Lance doesn’t know that he knows about the crush situation, and it’s better that way. Keith wants to keep it under wraps until he figures out how he feels about it, which could be some time when his emotions are buried under the wall of Lance’s that permanently reside in Keith’s head now.

Lance is relieved. Deeply relieved. The moment Keith starts speaking.

“Sleep well?” Lance asks, tone neutral, emotions neutral. And still a part of Keith feels like it might somehow be a trick question. If he says he slept well, isn’t he inadvertently admitting to liking having his head in Lance’s lap and Lance’s hands playing with his hair? If he says no, will he break Lance’s heart and crush his dreams? Keith is second guessing everything he is. 

This is exactly why he doesn’t bother with relationships, they’re so damn confusing. 

But Lance bails him out before he can spiral anymore, just gives a bright laugh and waves his hand dismissively through the air between them. “Don’t worry, I know you’re barely a functioning human being before coffee. Don’t let me hold you up. Do your routine.”

Distantly, Keith wonders when Lance got to know him well enough to learn his routine.

More immediately, Keith is just happy to be given the excuse to avoid social interaction. Even if Lance definitely gave him the escape rope out on purpose, was catering to him.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Keith says, giving Lance a parting nod before heading to the kitchen. He starts up the coffee machine with a long bellowing yawn, leaning over the counter and resting his head in his hands, trying in vain to squeeze in another couple minutes of sleep. 

His relationship with Lance has been so chaotic right from the start, all over the place in every sense of the expression, from terror to romance? He’s not sure what to make of it. Kind of wishes he could just ghost Lance (lol) and spend a few weeks away from it. He doesn’t know where they stand really, doesn’t know if they even have a normal.

Hopefully more of whatever last night was, because Keith really had enjoyed himself. 

The coffee is as black and bitter as he likes it, gives him a jolt of alertness that he’d been in desperate need of. It has him remembering to let Kosmo out before it gets any later into the day, something he’d all but forgotten even with the way the massive dog was rubbing up against his legs and demanding attention. It just hadn’t clicked until he’d had dirty bean water aiding his natural thinking process.

That’s where he finds himself when Lance approaches him again, standing on the back porch and watching as Kosmo does his very best to hunt a squirrel in the trees overhead. 

“Feeling more alive?” Lance asks, leaning against the wall beside Keith. There’s a hint of typical ghost sarcasm detected and Keith huffs out a laugh. The recurring jokes about death should probably carry an air of morbidness with them, but if anything it’s a relief that Lance is so casual about it. 

“I’ve been reanimated, back from beyond the grave.” Keith nods, glancing over at him. Lance is already staring back at him, eyes set in an easy gaze, lips curled into a lopsided smile. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you up all night.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had a good time.” Keith reassures him easily. The conversation lulls back into silence then, but it isn’t tense like before. There’s no pressure for Keith to get his shit together and speak up, to say the right thing, or anything at all. They just stand side by side, laughing occasionally as Kosmo failed terribly at chasing the squirrel down. 

It isn’t until Kosmo comes trotting back to them, tongue lolled out and panting from all the midday heat, that Keith decides to lead the three of them into the house. Or rather, to the door, at which point Kosmo barreled past them all and led the way, while conveniently coating Keith’s legs with dog hair.

“Ugh, come on, Kosmo. You’re lucky I don’t have to leave the house today.” Keith grumbles as he drops his mug off on the counter. If the plumbing was all up and running, he’d take the time to rinse it out, but the plumbers weren’t scheduled to get here and get the water running for another three days. 

“You’re going to be sticking around here all day?” Keith can hear the optimism lacing every word Lance speaks, it doesn’t even matter that he can feel Lance’s excitement as if it were his own. Keith nods, turning around and hopping up onto the counter, legs swinging over the edge.

“Yeah, I wanna start checking the last things off my list. Once the plumbing is all set up, the place is move in ready.” It still feels a little bit bizarre to be saying out loud, after so many weeks of work. “Only things left are aesthetic. New cupboards, fresh layer of paint on the interior walls, and then it’s time to start moving my furniture in.”

“Finally, the fun stuff.” Lance grins. And Keith doesn’t even know how to express just how much he doesn’t agree with that. His definition of fun had been swinging a hammer and tearing things apart, placing down new floorboards and filling the holes in the drywall. This is the difficult part, trying to pick color schemes and layouts for all of the empty rooms. It’s his nightmare. But Lance seems so very enthused, Keith decides not to say anything.

“So, what are your plans? What do you usually do in the run of a day?”

“Oh, yanno, ghost things. I’m a very busy man.” Lance says, shrugging his shoulders and biting his lip, trying to appear cool. Keith quirks an eyebrow. He can feel that Lance’s emotions are at war with themselves again. Lance drops the act with a quiet sigh and just gestures between him and Keith, not at all cool. “Just this, usually.”

“You just follow me around? The whole day?” Keith can’t help it, the words fall past his lips before he can hope to stop them. Lance’s eyes go wide at being called out so plainly, but he must sense that Keith is just messing with him because there’s none of the usual panic. Just a helpless sigh, shoulders slumping as he looks up at Keith where he’s perched on the counter. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

And, damn it, alright. Keith is enjoying watching him flounder and fluster so easily, for Keith of all people. He’s not sure he’s ever had the upper hand in a relationship like this. He doesn’t want to lead Lance on, but he also doesn’t want to ignore it like he thinks he should. It’s sorta fun to tease him.

“Am I _ that _ fascinating?”

“Fascinating is one word to describe it, I guess.” Lance mutters under his breath, valiantly refusing to look up from the tiles and make eye contact again. Keith catches himself giggling and it shocks him just as much as it seems to Lance. Lance whips his head upward, gaze landing heavy on Keith’s face. “I could do something else if it makes you uncomfortable?”

“No, I could use the company.” Keith tells him, sliding down from the counter. He jabs a finger into the center of Lance’s chest, pleased when it meets with something solid behind the heavy material of the hoodie Lance is wearing. It still baffles him that he can touch a ghost at all. “I’m making you help from now on, though. Now that I know you can.”

“Fair enough.” Lance relents, immediately, too easily. He’s so obvious it hurts. Keith just smiles at him, a flash of teeth that’s far too amused for the context. “What’s on the schedule for today, boss?”

“Painting, painting, and more painting. That’s all that’s on the schedule for the next week.”

“Alright, but I’m absolutely going to criticize all the colors you picked out. I’ve been watching, Keith, I’ve been silently judging for too long.”

“I can live with that.” Keith reckons, rolling his sleeves up and sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Lance’s eyes are practically glued to the movement. It’s bizarre to feel the heat in Lance’s gaze inside and out. And hey, if Keith flexes his muscles a little bit on purpose, can anyone blame him? It’s been a long time since he’s felt desired quite like this.

Eventually, he cuts Lance a break and leads the way out of the room. He doesn’t even have to look back to know that Lance is following, practically on his heels as he heads upstairs. Keith is secretly glad that he’s behind him and can’t see the way he’s blushing.

A couple hours later and Keith relaxes into Lance’s presence again easily, forgets all about the crush. It doesn’t come up in Lance’s emotions as often as you’d think, or maybe it never fully leaves, but it becomes background noise while they spend time together.

Considering Keith is defensive and guarded before he’s a human being, it continues to amaze him how easy Lance makes things for him. He isn’t overbearing, but he isn’t quick to misinterpret Keith and give him too much space either. He’s just present, always ready and willing to make conversation, but just as content to work alongside each other in silence. It’s never felt this easy this quickly with anyone before.

He’s glad he weathered the initial storm of confusion, because now that they’re settling into each other it’s clear that there will be many more nights like the last. Keith finds he doesn’t mind the idea of having a roommate quite as much as he’d thought he would. Hell, the guilt he still feels whenever he looks at Lance and thinks about what he’d thought about doing...

“It looks like the purple teletubby got skinned and you decided to hang it up on the wall.” Lance states in a frustrated huff, taking a step back to look around the small bathroom. They’d painted every wall with two layers now, but Lance had been growing more and more vocal about his distaste for the color as time progressed. “Textured paint? And the color name “Grape Galra Surprise”? Really? What does that even _ mean _ ?! What were you even _ thinking _, Keith?”

“Shut-up!”

“No, absolutely not, this is an intervention.” 

“You can’t intervene, this is my house.”

“Look at how dark this room is with only that tiny window, why would you choose this shade? It’s royal purple, dude, no amount of lighting in here will make this look okay.”

“I think it looks fine.” Keith argues, gesturing to his work with pride. The room is a little dark, but nothing he can’t handle. Pidge can install more lights. “The white plumbing contrasts it, yeah?”

“I’m begging you to rethink this. No bathroom should ever be _ this _purple.”

“You’re being mean.”

“Come to think of it, aren’t you painting your bedroom lavender? What’s with the purple obsession?”

“I just like it!” Keith shouts, but it isn’t angry no matter how he tries to aim for that outcome. It’s just bitten back laughter, threatening to bubble up and filter out instead. He shoves Lance and the other boy drops the paint brush he’d been holding, right onto the plastic lining the floor. “What color would you have me paint it, huh? Mr. Interior Design?”

“Blue!” Lance answers in the plainest deadpan, like that should be obvious. Keith rolls his eyes before he’s even considered the suggestion. He has a point to prove, a stubbornness to stand by. “It’s the most universal color, it works in any room-”

“It’s boring.” Keith interrupts, watching as Lance bends down to grab his paintbrush again. He lets out a dramatic gasp like Keith has deeply offended him, clutching a hand over his heart. 

“You’re boring!” Lance counters then, flicking his paintbrush in Keith’s direction. It almost feels like slow motion, as Keith watches globs of purple paint fly through the air toward him. He only just manages to close his eyes in time, before it’s splattering across his face. He waits for Lance to start laughing, but he doesn’t hear anything. As the seconds pass, he can feel the anxiety. “Keith. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Keith pries open the eye he’s pretty sure isn’t covered in paint, gives himself all of five seconds to aim before he’s flinging paint at Lance with a vengeance. Lance screeches like he’s been fatally wounded, loud enough that Kosmo paws needily at the door again, trying to get into the room out of concern.

“Dumbass!” Keith laughs, clambering across the plastic-covered floor and nearly slipping twice in the process of getting to Lance. As soon as he’s there, he uses his gloved hand to smear the paint all across Lance’s forehead, and then into his hair. “You look so fucking stupid, I can’t-”

“Oh, you’re on.” Lance growls, slamming his hand down into the paint try and then making quick work of attacking Keith. His hands are everywhere all at once, on Keith’s stomach and chest, his arms, his hips, anywhere within reach. Keith laughs uncontrollably, trying in vain to swat the lanky limbs away before they can carry out their attacks. 

A few minutes later and the bathroom is officially a disaster. The plastic is covered in purple, smeared into it or speckled in big ugly globs. The walls that had been mostly finished now had out of place handprints pressed into the paint in a way that will probably be noticeable even once it dries. All of the work they’d accomplished in the past couple hours is more or less a write-off.

Keith has Lance pinned to the bathroom floor, is mopping purple paint through his hair from where he sits atop his back. Lance is complaining loudly, chattering off in Spanish where his face is pressed to the plastic. Low and irritable, eyes flashing with annoyance as he tries to buck Keith off of him without any results. Sure, he could just dematerialize, but that would be cheating. 

He’s still going off when Keith interrupts him, giving a final parting pat atop his head before standing.

“Yeah, I see what you mean. This much purple in this small of a space… it’s a bit much.”

“Blue?” Lance perks up, obviously hopeful. Keith rolls his eyes, glances in the antique mirror still situated on the counter and surveys the damage. His clothes are ruined, his arms are covered, his hair was mostly spared but there’s the odd fleck of purple standing out in the black...

“I’ll think on it. The blue.” Keith answers belatedly. He pries his gloves off, reaches up to try and scrub the paint from his eyebrow. He’s pretty sure this shit is toxic, at least to an extent. Definitely not supposed to get anywhere near the eyes. He sighs. “I’m gonna need to go back to Shiro’s and shower, thanks to you.”

“Ha. All I have to do is dematerialize for a second and it’ll disappear.” 

“Jackass.” Keith turns around to face him, glaring. If he’d known that it was so easy for Lance to undo all of the mess he’d made, then he would have doubled it, thoroughly coated him head to toe in purple as revenge. Lance is settled on the edge of the tub where it’s covered with plastic, lets out a bored yawn at Keith’s bitter expression. “You have it way easier.”

“I do not! I’m dead!” Lance argues with mock offense, throwing his hands up. 

“Whatever.” Keith reaches down and grabs the hem of his soaked shirt, now permanently stained purple, and then he pulls it over his head. He tosses it into a corner of the bathroom with a huff, wishes uselessly that he could use the sink to wash some of the mess off himself, but it’s still not set up. 

He’s on the verge of dropping his pants and leaving his jeans here too, in the spirit of minimizing the mess he makes once he leaves this room… but his hands freeze on his belt buckle. 

It hits him like a suckerpunch to the gut, just like that first time he’d walked through the door and laid eyes on Lance. Of all of Lance’s emotions, his lust seems to be the heaviest, the most all-consuming, the one that affects Keith so heavily he can feel his entire body jumping to action. Maybe because it’s such a universal, primal sort of feeling. The specifics really don’t matter when that heat pools southward.

A low whistle echoes off the walls.

“Wow, didn’t know I signed up for a gun show today.” Lance jokes, stepping into view and appearing in the mirror behind Keith. Lance’s hand is still very purple when it settles on Keith’s bicep, giving it an exaggerated squeeze. Even without the heat clouding the too-small room like a fog, Keith would be able to read the telling way Lance’s eyes were going dark with desire.

“I go to the gym three times a week. It’s sort-of inevitable.” Keith offers awkwardly, but he doesn’t shrug away from Lance’s touch. If anything, he leans back into it, until he can feel Lance’s breaths ghosting across the nape of his neck. Lance isn’t shy about it when he makes up his mind, his grip is firm as he all but massages Keith’s arm.

“Show off.”

“Therapist recommended it to me years ago.” Keith is trying his best to keep up with the whole conversation aspect of what they’re doing here, but he’s understandably distracted when he has Lance’s hands on him. Lance must notice it, the slight breathiness to his voice, the stutter to his words. He fucking eats it up, only grows more confident. “I have a lot of pent-up energy and emotions. She said it was best I take it out in productive ways.”

“I think that’s therapist talk for you need to get laid.” Lance says, boldly. Keith turns around, leans back against the sink, and the choked-out surprised noise that Lance makes in the back of his throat is definitely worth it. Keith tries not to feel self-conscious as Lance blatantly checks him out, eyes roving over his chest. In the end, Keith gives in to the nerves eating away at him, reaches out to snap his fingers in front of Lance’s face and draw him back to reality.

“Contrary to popular belief, I have actually gotten laid in the last six years, thanks.” 

“Can’t imagine how after the disaster that was your last interaction with the same sex.” Lance jibes back without missing a beat, flashing a devilish smirk. Lance is good at this, the back and forth, putting down and picking up, he gives as good as he gets. Keith can only imagine what a force to be reckoned with he must have been while he was alive. Definitely a slut. Definitely.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about me. All of my needs are being taken care of.” Keith assures him. There’s a long pause while Lance processes, tries desperately to come to terms with the information being given.

“Are you flirting back? Is that what’s happening here?” Lance comes out with finally, eyebrows raised.

“Nah, nothing’s happening here. You’re definitely reading into it too much.” And with that, Keith turns and heads for the door. He leaves the room, mindful of the wet paint still all over him, Lance chasing after him with an urgency that Keith can feel in his own skin.

“Come on, you’re such a tease.” Lance groans, from somewhere behind him. Keith doesn’t look back.

\--

“I’m telling you, that last piece went on backward.”

“It did not.” 

“Did too.” Lance counters childishly, from where he’s stretched out across the couch. He’s being about as helpful as a backseat driver, refusing to actually put any work in, but all too happy to complain about what Keith is doing from his comfortable perch on the couch. He’s a bastard, plain and simple.

It doesn’t help that it’s the fucking hottest day of the summer so far and Keith is drenched in sweat, visibly uncomfortable at any given second. And Lance is just… stretched out and smiling at nothing, totally content. He doesn’t have to worry about things like temperature, probably can’t feel it anyway.

Keith had spent the night at Shiro’s after his shower, but he came back bright and early this morning to get back to work. And Lance was, in fact, ready to greet him at the door. Keith didn’t even mind it, just lit up in a wide grin and started telling him about the plans for the day. Lance bounced off of his ideas until they’d ended up here, settled on the floor in the living room, putting Ikea furniture together.

“Which one of us is looking at the instructions, huh? Answer me that.” Keith argues, glaring at him.

“Instructions are useless if you don’t know how to read them.” Lance counters without missing a beat, a condescending smile on his face. It’s toothy and pinched and Keith immediately feels a challenge rising in him. He’s stubborn to his core, will never consider Lance’s input on what he’s doing. If he’s doing it wrong or doing it the hard way, then he’ll just keep pushing through even if it takes him five times the amount of effort to work it out.

“I _ am _ reading them.” 

“Does this look anything like the wardrobe you’re trying to make? Answer me _ that _.” Lance points toward the few boards Keith has drilled together so far, resembling a dog kennel or a ladder more than an enclosed closet space. Keith’s scowl deepens even further.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Or you could just read the instructions and let them tell you how to do it. You know, as is their purpose.”

“Your purpose is to shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, wow, good one. I’m impressed.”

“Would you-” Keith starts to shout, annoyance bubbling to a boil under his skin as he continues trying to slot the two wooden boards together like the instructions are showing him. At this point he’s just blindly slamming the pieces together, not even trying to be accurate about it. He’s fuming with anger, but he doesn’t even get to finish yelling at Lance when a hand is settling on his shoulder.

He looks up, a retort on the very tip of his tongue. But Lance doesn’t look like he’s there to mess with him. He doesn’t even glance over at Keith, just picks up the instructions and skims over them.

“You’re fitting piece B into piece F.” Lance observes, tone impassive, eyes doing a damn good job of hiding the amusement bubbling beneath Lance’s surface. It’s probably for Keith’s sake, he’s probably trying to be a good sport about it when Keith is already so noticeably worked up. But Keith can feel how much Lance wants to laugh at him, wants to burst down into giggles and just absolutely lose his shit.

And… damn it, it’s hard for Keith to be mad about it. Maybe he is being a little bit ridiculous.

“Fine, I’ll do it your way.” 

“You mean the right way?” Lance hums, his tone expectant even if his expression isn’t. Keith relents with a long-suffering sigh, doesn’t push the issue. Instead, he reaches up to readjust where he has his hair tied back from his face. 

Then he goes back to work with a new sense of direction. Every time he messes up, which is admittedly a lot, Lance carefully corrects him with that perfectly controlled neutral tone that’s honestly starting to feel a little bit mocking in itself. They both know now that Keith is a failure of a wardrobe-builder. They’re on the same page and still Lance is being outwardly gentle about it.

But then it’s done. And it’s beautiful. Dark wood and intricate metal handles, with so much storage inside that Keith is never going to need to worry about running out of closet space again for the rest of his entire life. It’s a weight off his shoulders and Keith is so relieved, he doesn’t even stop to think about what this inevitably means.

Lance’s hand settles atop his head, tries to give him a noogie but with his hair tied in an elastic he only really manages to give him a hundred flyaway strands in different directions.

“I’d_ hate _ to say I told you so, but…”

“Shut-up.” Keith growls, turning to face Lance with eyes narrowed in an unspoken threat. But Lance isn’t one to be dissuaded from anything he wants to do. A shit-eating grin appears on his face as he leans in close, until their foreheads are practically touching. Never has Keith known someone so blatantly indifferent to body language, Lance just insists on getting all up in his space no matter the cost. Even Shiro and Pidge have more sense than this!

“Make me.” Lance speaks lowly, drawing his bottom lip back between his teeth in an exaggerated bite, and then working it there. Back and forth, back and forth, until the lip is swollen and reddened. An unspoken threat of his own. Keith’s gaze flick up from Lance’s lips, boring into Lance’s deep blue irises. 

The moment stretches on for the longest ten seconds of Keith’s entire life. He feels like every breath he draws weighs a tonne, like he’ll suffocate before he manages to hold one in long enough to feel the effects of it. Lance just keeps staring right back at him, refusing to back down. Keith isn’t about to either.

… And then Keith elbows him in the gut. 

It seems like the right thing to do to wipe that idiotic lust-filled bedroom gaze off his face.

It seems less like the right thing to do when Lance recoils and curls in on himself, cursing under his breath. Like he’s in pain. But surely that doesn’t make sense, because Lance is dead. And dead people don’t feel pain. “Ow! Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I can’t feel pain!”

Hm. You learn something new every day.

“You… can?”

“Obviously!” Lance hisses at him, reaching over to punch Keith in the shoulder. Keith doesn’t even flinch, there isn’t much power behind the hit and he deserves it anyway. He’d sort-of given it his all, put some strength behind his own punch because he figured Lance wouldn’t really feel it anyway. It shows too, as Lance is still cradling his poor stomach like he’s dying all over again. “You bastard.”

“You can feel pain?” Keith repeats, dumbly.

“Yeah?” Lance is starting to look honest to god annoyed with him now, which is a new first other than when Keith stumbled across him crying that night. In Keith’s defense, he’s still pretty new to all of this ghost stuff. As easily as his relationship is forming with Lance, the rest of this will still take a lot of time to get used to. 

When Keith continues to stare blankly, Lance takes it upon himself to carry the conversation along all on his own, as usual. He tends to ramble, to overshare. Keith usually only half-listens, but this time he’s entirely invested. “Only when I’m making an effort to interact with the physical plane, but since you had me start wearing these stupid clothes I’m _ always _ interacting with it. You know how oversensitive you get after spending a few _ years _ not feeling anything physically? This is like torture! This stupid sweater you make me wear is rubbing my nips _ raw _.”

Yep. Definitely oversharing. Keith can feel the distinct spike of panic when Lance realizes what he’d said.

“Huh.” Keith breathes out through his nose, a thoughtful hum of a noise.

At this point, even Keith recognizes that he’s being just a tad weird about this. 

“I think you’re losing your mind after working on this wardrobe for two hours.” Lance laughs about it, but it’s clear that he’s out of his element. He has no idea what to make of Keith’s fixation on this topic, of all things. In all honesty, Keith isn’t sure either. 

So… he should be pretty thrilled when Lance gets to his feet and holds out a hand to him, gives him an easy out for the corner he’s backed himself into by acting so strange. “Let’s do something else.”

Keith really should take the hand being held out to him, turn his back on this entire conversation and try his best to forget it ever happened. That would be the smart thing to do. That would be the thing that anyone with a shred of impulse control would do. Self-preservation instincts forgotten, Keith just comes out and blurts it. No finesse, no explanation, not casual at all.

“So, by extension, you can also feel... _ pleasure _?” Keith asks. He immediately regrets it and wishes he could swallow it back down, but the gears in Lance’s mind are already turning. He looks confused, but there’s an eagerness there that Keith can’t deny. He’s definitely misinterpreting this.

“I thought we already had this conversation. Ghosts get horny? Ring a bell?”

“I mean, yeah, but that was interacting with yourself.”

“Are you asking me if ghosts can fuck?” Lance deadpans.

“Obviously you_ can _fuck, you interact with the physical plane on the daily.” Keith muses aloud, tries to ignore the growing heat rolling across his face like a crashing wave. Now his flushed cheeks have nothing to do with the heat outside. But he’s already committed to voicing this terrible train of thought and he doesn’t have any brakes, so he just keeps going. “I just wasn’t sure if you’d… get anything out of it.”

Oh god, does that imply that he’s put thought into this before?

He hasn’t! He really hasn’t! It’s just something that blindsided him just now, thinking about Lance’s nipples being rubbed raw by the-

Fuck. There’s no getting out of this one, is there?

Keith can tell there isn’t, as he watches realization dawn across Lance’s face ever so slowly. There aren’t words to express how much he regrets speaking his thoughts aloud. He was just struck by the new information that Lance could feel pain and then the natural course of action was to wonder what else he was capable of… right? 

The way Lance is looking at him definitely implies that it wasn’t the natural course of action. He’s looking at Keith like he’s admitted to a deep, dark secret. He’s acting like he knows something that maybe even Keith himself doesn’t know about this interaction. His grin is almost shark-like, like Keith is out over his head and an easy target. Damn it. 

“Thought you never wanted to know about this stuff, huh?” 

“Am I not allowed to change my mind?”

“Was there something specific that made you change your mind, huh? Care to share with the class?”

“Fuck off, Lance. Forget I said anything.”

“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easily.” 

“Then answer the damn question!” Keith roars, throwing his hands up in exasperation and turning to Lance again. It’s the first time they’ve properly looked at each other since before the elbowing incident, but it’s not as awkward as Keith was expecting it to be. Lance’s teasing expression softens slightly at whatever he sees on Keith’s face, into something more toned down, more personal. 

“I don’t know the specifics, Keith. I can’t say I’ve _ tried _ to get freaky since my heart stopped beating, I haven’t had the chance. It wasn’t exactly top of my priority list.” Lance mutters, averting his eyes for a second to wet his lips before continuing. He looks up through his lashes, adorably bashful for maybe the first time in his entire afterlife. “I am _ definitely _capable of feeling both pain and pleasure, so take what you will from that.”

“Huh.” Keith croaks out, around the sudden inexplicable lump in his throat. He’s not capable of saying anything more, or maybe he just doesn’t trust himself to. He doesn’t know what might spill past his lips this time if he dared to open them.

“Is that a good huh or a bad huh?” There’s an urgency to the question that really could send them spiralling into the conversation even further. Keith could easily call it out, it’s obvious. Lance wouldn’t even have a good back up lie to cover his tracks, would just have to stutter and stumble over the truth.

The truth is that Lance really _ wants _ it to be a good “huh”. That he _ wants _Keith to be thinking about all of this in a positive light. All of this being… Lance having sex. Presumably with him. Jesus. 

“It’s open to interpretation.” Keith settles on.

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, maybe Keith really should be more careful about how he gives Lance false hope for this thing between them. Maybe Keith should spend more time looking inward to try and figure out whether the hope is false at all. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t know a damn thing.

Other than the way Lance is looking at him right now. All needy and hopeful, those big blue eyes trained on him like he’s the most fascinating puzzle in the universe just prime to be solved. 

In desperate need of a distraction before Keith does something stupid and impulsive… he does something stupid and impulsive. But slightly better than elbowing Lance in the gut!

“Keith! No! You bastard! I thought we were talking about sexy stuff!” Lance cries out, but it’s too late. He goes down like a bag of bricks, hits the floor in one solid thud as he’s tackled. Keith is on him in a second.

“You gave this information up willingly! You were practically asking to be tickled!” Keith reminds him, mercilessly digging his fingers into his ribs and tickling him. Lance giggles so hard that he snorts, entire body thrashing around on the floor, legs kicking out in every which direction. It’s almost inevitable that he kicks the wardrobe while they’re rolling around, sending it toppling to the floor and breaking apart in all the places Keith had so meticulously screwed together.

They both sit up with matching wide eyes, staring at what used to be a perfectly-finished wardrobe.

“Well, fuck.”

\--

“What the hell do you mean you overbooked yourself?! I paid you in advance literally weeks ago! I talked to you just the other day and you said you were good to go. Unless you took on another gig since then, there’s no excuse for this!” Keith hisses into the phone, trying his best not to raise his voice. He doesn’t want them to just hang up on him, he wants to be able to work this out. His money and his time is on the line. But they aren’t exactly being cooperative, coming up with a different excuse every time he asks.

They continue with more of the same, stuttered and stilted reasons why they have to cancel on him and can’t come for another two weeks. It’s ridiculous. Keith can’t remember ever being treated so badly by a company, especially once he’s already paid for their services.

He’s about to go off on them again, mouth open and everything, when a hand settles lightly on his shoulder.

“Keith, I-”

“In a sec, Lance.” Keith says, voice changing to something gentler, as he turns and smiles at the other boy in acknowledgement. Lance grins back at him, and he looks like he has something to say, but the stupid plumber is tearing into Keith again and trying to blame this whole thing on him. Keith can’t keep his mouth shut for another second. “Clearly I booked you way before this other person, how come they’re being prioritized over me?! Are they paying more or something? I don’t think you’re giving me the full story and I don’t have the patience to be lied to right now, B. Riggs Plumbing.”

It continues like that for another five minutes and Keith is well and truly on his way to a migraine. The guy he’s talking to is the biggest moron this side of the planet, yet has the audacity to talk to Keith like he doesn’t know a damn thing. Hell, if Keith really wanted to put his mind to it and enlisted Pidge’s help, he could figure out the plumbing situation on his own. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done repairs.

But the whole point of hiring someone was so he’d have more free time and he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this.

Keith falls back into the lawn chair he’s set up in the center of the room for while he’s painting, a scowl ingrained so deeply into his features he’s doubtful it’ll ever fully disappear. And then he sees it, balanced on a little plate in the center of the floor. 

Ignoring the man droning on in his ear, Keith shifts to kneel on the floor and pick up the mug of coffee, taking a long sip of it. There’s a couple words written in paint beside it, scrawled across the plastic sheet covering the floor. 

“_ For you _.”

A wave of guilt suddenly hits Keith for not being more attentive, for not showing more appreciation when Lance was actually here dropping it off for him. It’s a considerate gesture, taking the time to try and relax him when he’s so clearly stressed out. He can’t help it, he starts to smile even through all of the annoyance he’s feeling. He cradles the mug in his hand, stares down at it fondly.

And then the plumber offers to pay him half of his money back and Keith feels fury like no man ever has.

“No! Fuck you! I don’t have to take this! I want my deposit back in full! I’ll take my business elsewhere, don’t think for a second that I won’t!”

Needless to say, through the power of persistence, Keith managed to blackmail and threaten the owner of the plumbing company into a compromise that worked for both of them. It worked better for Keith than it worked for the stranger on the other end of the call, but that’s just how the cookie ended up crumbling. Keith isn’t the type to take no for an answer.

It ended up taking half an hour to come to an agreement, which was far longer than Keith planned on spending out of his morning. He’d had to put everything on hold for that stupid call. By the time it’s finished, his coffee cup has been long since empty and barren, and Keith has the feeling that he might need another one to get through the rest of the afternoon with the mood he’s in.

He stalks down the stairs, that same scowl having returned to his face at some point. The living room and kitchen are empty, and Keith is silently thankful for it. As much as he appreciated Lance’s kind gesture, he isn’t really in a mood where he can express that. He doesn’t want to be short and snappy with Lance, he doesn’t deserve to be around Keith when he gets like this. Cranky, as Shiro would say.

A fresh cup of coffee once again in hand, Keith turns to head back upstairs and go back to work. He pauses when he hears a distinct playful yip from the backyard though, eyebrows furrowing curiously as he walks toward the back door. He peers outside, bites his lip to ward off a smile when the sight that greets him is so damn adorable.

Lance is playing fetch with Kosmo, even though the 120lbs of rescue dog never fully learnt how to give the ball back after he’s retrieved it. Lance is making a valiant effort to pry it out of Kosmo’s slobbering mouth, but he really only ends up squirming and suffocating underneath a giant hairball for all his troubles. He’s got his head tipped back in the grass and he’s laughing so loudly Keith can hear it from inside the house. His laughter turns into outraged squawks when Kosmo drops the ball only to maul Lance’s face, with excitable licks across the entirety of it.

When Keith finally caves and pushes the door open to step out onto the back porch, Kosmo bolts upright and charges at him. Lance is left in the dust, hair sticking up in every which direction, face glistening with dog drool. He looks disgruntled to say the least. He visibly brightens up when he sees Keith though.

“There’s my good boy.” Keith greets warmly, as Kosmo stops short of jumping up on him and instead plants his big ass down on the porch at Keith’s feet. Keith’s hand settles between his perky black ears, scratching at the wind-swept hair there. Kosmo is overjoyed, tail wagging so hard it makes a dull thud with every sweep.

“Who are you calling a _ good _boy? That thing is a hellhound. Look at what it did to my hair!” Lance all but shouts, gesturing to himself as he walks up the steps of the porch. Lance does sort-of look like he’s been hit by an oncoming bear, covered in hair and slobber. Keith hides his smile behind the rim of his mug. 

“Aw, come on, Lance. Jealousy is a bad look on you.” Keith winks at him. “You can be my good boy too.”

“Oh, fuck off.” There’s nothing but annoyance in his tone, but Keith feels the way Lance’s mood improves tenfold as he settles onto the swinging porch chair. It isn’t really an invitation, and distantly Keith remembers the bad mood he’d been in and how he’d been planning on keeping to himself for most of the day, but he finds that he doesn’t mind spending time with Lance… even when he’s cranky.

No sooner has Keith made up his mind to sit down beside Lance than does Kosmo jump up onto the swing instead, tongue lolled out happily as he settled his head in Lance’s lap. He looked all too proud of himself, tail still wagging as he looked back at Keith, as if to rub it in his face that he got to the spot first.

“I think he’s starting to like you more than me. That’s gonna be a problem.” Keith observes, his eyes narrowing into a glare. Lance just laughs though, and for someone that was complaining about the dog not even a full minute ago, he’s pretty quick to gather Kosmo into his arms and drag his entire massive body into his lap. It’s ridiculous. Even Keith doesn’t hold the dog like that, like it’s a massive overgrown baby. But Kosmo is certainly enjoying it, relishing every second of the attention.

With the spot newly cleared-up, Keith takes a seat beside Lance. “You shouldn’t spoil him so much, he’ll come to expect it.”

As if understanding Keith’s words, Kosmo’s ears perk up and his eyes dart back to his master. There’s a silent warning there, Keith is sure, telling him to shut the fuck up before Lance actually listens and puts the dog back on the ground. But Lance doesn’t listen, just swaddles the massive creature closer to his chest and coos at it. And so, Kosmo’s tail goes back to wagging.

“I didn’t hear you complaining when I was spoiling_ you _ earlier.” Lance smirks. Keith knows what’s coming before he even says anything, just leans back and rolls his eyes. “How was the coffee I made for you? I _ slaved _ over the machine for ten whole minutes and I didn’t even hear so much as a _ thank-you _. Do you really wanna talk about who’s coming to expect special treatment?”

“Whatever.” 

“What was that? It definitely didn’t sound like an expression of gratitude.”

“Thank-you, Lance. The coffee was_ lovely _.” Keith bites out, giving him an exasperated look. But Lance just grins back at him, wide and unabashed, even as Kosmo goes back to licking Lance’s cheek and leaving a slime trail behind. He’s just… beaming. Lance is so ridiculously happy that Keith’s own chest feels full with it, overjoyed by everything and nothing at the same time. It’s not a common feeling for Keith, always plagued by anxious thoughts and causes of stress that he refuses to address.

But sometimes Lance just gets like this, so genuinely happy. Sure, there are moments where he gets so sad it’s devastating, but then there are times like these. Everything Lance feels he feels so wholly, invests the entirety of himself into it. It’s sort-of inspiring, in a way. Keith can’t help but admire it.

“How did the phone call go? Did you sort everything out?”

“Yeah, they’re coming on the day after we agreed upon. They were trying to push me back another two weeks though, so I can’t complain.” 

“You’re real convincing when you wanna be.” Lance jokes, eyebrows wiggling. “Nothing sexier than a man willing to take on shitty customer service by cursing them out like a sailor.”

“Shut-up.” Keith laughs out loud, nearly chokes on a mouthful of his current coffee. “I’m not usually the type to get bitchy with customer service, but come on. I booked in advance for a reason. All of the movers are already scheduled and I _ really _need running water in this place before I can move in.”

“That’s coming up pretty soon, huh?”

“Assuming everything else goes to plan, I’ll be officially moved in… two weeks from today.” It feels so weird to say it out loud, to acknowledge that most of the renovations are actually finished. It seemed like such a big project when he first signed the deed, so intimidating that he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever be able to finish it in just one summer. But daily work adds up, until eventually you turn around and can hardly recognize the house you’re looking at.

“It’ll be nice having you here more.” 

“It’ll be nice being here more.” Keith agrees, reaching over to rub a hand over Kosmo’s exposed belly. He wiggles around, out of Lance’s grip and on top of Keith, until he’s splayed out across the both of them and crushing their legs equally under his weight. “I can’t wait for all of this to be done and I can just sit back and relax. No human interaction for a solid week before I have to go back to work.”

“I’m hoping I’m the exception?”

“Yeah, ‘course you are.” 

“Because I’m not human?” 

“No, because you’re… part of the family, or whatever.” Keith explains, lifting his hand to count them off on his fingers one by one. Lance is staring at him avidly, eyes never once leaving the display. Keith feels a little bit sheepish under such an intense gaze. “You, me, and Kosmo. It’s our house.”

Lance doesn’t respond. He just sits up a little straighter, presses his lips firmly together. 

If Keith didn’t know any better, he’d worry that he said the wrong thing just now.

As it is, he knows he said the right one. 

The best thing he possibly could have said, if the warmth radiating off of Lance is anything to go by. He feels like he might explode from the inside out, swallowing down all those intense positive emotions. It’s enough to have Keith blushing, the amount of _ love _Lance is feeling right now. 

It’s been a while since Keith felt anything like this, so long that it feels foreign in his chest. It’s hard to distinguish what are Lance’s emotions and what are his own, but he decides that it doesn’t really matter that much. He’s certain that he wants more of this, whatever it is. More of Lance feeling like this, more of Keith feeling like_ this _by extension. 

\--

Keith had been halfway into a wonderful dream involving a litter of abandoned puppies in desperate need of a home when the world shifts out from under him. He lets out a muffled yelp, as he falls forward and stops just short of sinking face-first into the coffee table. The only thing stopping him is Lance’s grip on his shoulder, keeping him upright. 

He blinks his eyes open, realizes belatedly that he’d been drifting off while sitting at the couch working.

“You should head home and get some rest.” Lance suggests, hand smoothing down Keith’s back and lingering, like he might collapse the second Lance isn’t touching him. 

Keith yawns loudly, ignoring Lance entirely in favor of turning back to his work. The entire coffee table is littered with little magazine cut-outs and paint swatches. There’s a handful of pens and pencils, a terribly-drawn diagram for each of the rooms upstairs. He’s trying to figure out how to organize his furniture in each of the rooms, but it’s hard to picture any of it when he’s so tired.

Lance shuffles closer to him, leans into his side. Keith leans back into him, eyelids drooping, exhaustion nipping at his heels. “Big day tomorrow dealing with the plumbers, think you can handle that? Maybe you should hit the gym beforehand, work on all your uncaged aggression problems.”

“I really wanted to finish this tonight.”

“It’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“I know that, but… I wanted to finish it tonight.” Keith repeats with a tired slur, something akin to a whine just begging to slip past his lips. A quick glance at his phone tells him it’s well past 2am, meaning he’s been at this for six hours or more. He hasn’t really made much progress as of recent, though.

He knows deep down that Lance is right, that he still has enough time that there’s no reason to pull all-nighters. This isn’t even something of great urgency, but Keith had set out to do it and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t finish it now. 

“Is this your bedroom?” Lance asks, and Keith didn’t even notice when he reached over and picked up one of the pieces of paper with a room diagram on it. Predictably, it’s the one that Keith didn’t want him to see. He must have fallen asleep with it on top of the stack, like an idiot.

“No, I was-” Keith tries to think of an excuse, but he can see the understanding dawning slowly across Lance’s features as he studies the picture and the title scribbled over it. Keith knows there’s no point trying to hide it, not when Lance’s name is literally in bold print across the top. _ Lance’s room. _

When Keith first thought of it, it was something he was planning on doing as a joke. He thought Lance might get a kick out of it, if he pretended that one of the guest bedrooms was Lance’s and added little ghost-themed decorations from straight out of the Halloween section. But it started to feel less like a joke over the past few days, as Keith poured genuine time and effort into it, into figuring out what Lance might like in a bedroom. 

He deserved his own space in the house. He lived here more than Shiro or Pidge did, and they had designated bedrooms for when they slept over. It just… made sense. 

“Is this a joke?” Lance asks, tone eerily absent of emotion given how many different ones were raging inside his head. Keith places a hand on his knee, squeezes it.

“I was thinking you could have that storage room? The one with the window seat?”

“_ What _?”

“Yeah, I’ve caught you up there a couple times. Sometimes when I’m in the backyard I see you in the window. It’s just your place now, you know? I can’t imagine the room being anyone else’s.” 

“Keith, I’m_ dead _. I don’t need a room.” Lance looks like he might cry and Keith still hasn’t even begun to untangle the mixed emotions being broadcasted to him. In a moment of panicked weakness, Keith just defaults to throwing his arms around the trembling boy sitting next to him. He hugs Lance tightly, a steady reassurance. Slowly, he feels Lance’s emotions start to unwind, into something recognizable. 

Disbelief. Hurt. Self-Doubt. Pain. Guilt. And then so much more hurt and pain, suffocating in its intensity.

But beneath all of that...

It’s just love. In the plainest of forms. Pure and simple. The nature of it doesn’t matter, romantic or otherwise, because at the core it’s just the same. Lance is so deeply appreciative of him, so inspired and impressed by Keith of all people, so invested in everything he does and says. He cares so fiercely, it’s staggering for Keith to feel it in his own chest, how Lance would do anything for him.

He backs out of the hug, grips Lance’s face between his hands and looks him in the eye.

“You’re still a part of my life and this household whether you’re dead or not. Where else would you keep your clothes? Or go to when you want to be alone? Or channel all of your interior design fantasies into?”

“I don’t have fantasies, I have opinions-”

“What’s your opinion on this?” Keith asks, interrupting his rant by shoving a handful of paint color swatches into his hands. Lance takes them slowly, eyes widening slightly as he realizes what he’s looking at. He keeps looking up at Keith and then back at the papers in his hands, like he isn’t sure what to say.

“You’re gonna paint it _ blue _ ? For _ me _?”

“Yeah.” Keith smiles, watching as Lance studies all the little notes to self scribbled onto the blue paint swatches. It’s mostly gibberish, just reminders of colors Lance has dissed or enthused about in the past, being used in an effort to determine which he would hate the least. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I literally live here, you idiot. How would you surprise me?” Lance chokes out, and now he is crying, but it isn’t sad. It’s happy tears, wet and shining as they streak down his cheeks. Keith keeps the arm around his shoulders there for support, pulls Lance into his side and doesn’t say a word until he’s started to compose himself again. “Thank-you, Keith.”

“You like what I have so far?” Keith asks, genuinely curious. “You can change things, I know you’re kinda picky about-”

“_ Me _? Picky?”

“Yeah. You. Picky.” Keith huffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s not up for debate. I’m not making fun of you, I accept it’s part of who you are. I just figure it’s best to ask your input now rather than later, or you’ll make fun of my mistakes for the rest of time.”

“Why, I never.” Lance continues, in that same dramatic drawl. But then he goes back to carding through the paint cards, his mind very clearly already made up. He slams them down on the coffee table and pokes his finger into one in particular. “This shade of blue. Sapphire Salute? I only want it on the far wall, though, as an accent color so it isn’t too overbearing. The other three walls will stay white.”

“Anything else I should note while we’re here?”

“Wooden bed frame, probably Walnut wood? It’s dark, but not too drastic. And none of that Ikea shit. I don’t care if we have to go second hand, I want something unique.”

“Good call.” Keith agrees dumbly, given that he has no actual input. He trusts Lance’s decision making skills when it comes to interior design far more than he trusts his own at this point. Besides, even on the off chance that he had something valuable to share, he wouldn’t trust his mouth to speak it right now.

He just sits there dumbly, staring at Lance while Lance stares at the shades of blue in his hands like they hold the secrets to the universe. Keith feels the oddest temptation to touch him, even though Lance has mostly composed himself and doesn’t seem to need the comfort anymore. Keith has to wrench his hands together in his lap to keep from reaching out, from brushing the hair out of Lance’s eyes and turning his face to look him in the eye.

Lance sits up suddenly.

“But… we can discuss the rest tomorrow.” Lance says gently, an apologetic smile stretching across his lips, but thankful all the same that Keith listened as much as he did. Keith feels a protest bubbling up immediately, doesn’t want Lance to think that he’s not invested or that he doesn’t want to be here anymore. He very much does, he’s just… distracted.

“Lance, I’m fine. I’m not even_ that _ tired.”

“I’m serious, Keith. This couch may be the only new piece of furniture you have in here, but if you keep sleeping on it every night, it’s gonna end up smelling like ass. You and I both know you can’t shower while you’re here. You want a stinky B.O couch? Huh? Is that really what you want when you invite all your friends over for the move-in party?”

“But I’m not even that t-” Keith tries to repeat the same argument as before, truthfully too tired to compose another one. He doesn’t manage to get the words out though, chokes on them halfway up his throat when Lance leans in and brushes his lips across Keith’s cheek. It’s so fleeting he barely even feels the kiss itself, but the heat lingers long after Lance retreats.

“Thanks for this. It means a lot to me.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” 

“Drive safe, yeah?”

“I will.” Keith smiles at him, getting to his feet blindly because he can’t bring himself to look away from Lance for even a second. He wants to commit this moment to memory, never forget the gentle arch of Lance’s smile, the sparkle in his eyes. Keith knows he’s blushing, he’s vaguely aware of the fact his entire body feels as hot as molten lava, but he ignores it. 

He ignores everything right up until he stubs his toe on the coffee table on his way toward the door, at which point he physically has to wrench his gaze away from Lance and survey the damage on his poor toe where it’s definitely already purpling with a bruise. Fuck. 

Lance just snickers at him, stretches back across the couch and watches as Keith composes himself. 

He doesn’t even get up when Keith is putting his boots and jacket on. When Keith glances back at him, he finds that Lance’s gaze is still glued to the room blueprints Keith had clumsily been scribbling together over the last day. Keith decides not to interrupt him, turns back to the task at hand. “C’mere, Kosmo!”

The dog comes speeding around the corner, crashing clumsily into everything in sight, until eventually he’s crashing head-first into Keith’s knees and nearly knocking him over. Keith braces himself on the door frame, laughing loudly as he greets Kosmo. He kneels down, ruffles up his hair and places a kiss atop his head. Behind them, Lance has turned to look their way.

“Kosmo, baby, come here.” Lance calls, patting his lap just once. Immediately, Kosmo is pulling away from Keith’s hold and launching himself toward the couch. The betrayal is utterly painful. Keith gets back to his feet, watches with wide eyes as Kosmo rolls around on top of Lance, whining excitably. Damn it. His dog really does like Lance better. “Who’s my good boy? Who’s my best boy?” 

“Alright, slut, stop giving it up to anyone who’ll have you and let’s go home.”

“He’s not a slut, he just knows quality belly rubs when he feels them.” Lance argues, as Keith pries the massive ball of fluff off his lap. He has to grab onto Kosmo’s collar and practically drag him to the door, ignoring the pathetic whines of protest.

“We’ll literally be back tomorrow, come on!”

“Goodnight, Keith! And goodnight, Kosmo!” Lance calls after them with a bubbly giggle, and really Keith isn’t any better than the damn dog because his head is whipping around at the speed of light at the very first sound of his name on Lance’s lips. He’s already grinning when his gaze lands on the other boy. He’s sure if he had a tail, it’d probably be wagging too.

“Night, Lance.”

\--

It’s late in the day when the plumbers finally leave and by then Keith is ready to pass out on the couch once again, Lance’s advice be damned. Sadly, he’s hardly shooed the plumbers out the door when a pair of familiar vehicles pull up to take the place of the white company van from before. Keith lets out the longest sigh of his entire life as Shiro and Pidge climb out of their respective cars.

“We brought some of your stuff over with us!” Pidge tells him with a wave, gesturing for him to come help carry stuff inside. He supposes it is that time, time to start bringing stuff into the house. There are only a couple rooms left to paint and otherwise, all the repairs are finished. It’s time to decorate, to furnish the house he’s about to start _ living _ in. Jesus.

“Why do I get the feeling that you brought anything but the essentials?”

“Um, excuse me? Are you implying these lava lamps aren’t staple pieces of your home decor?” She holds up the lamps in question, one red and one blue, a shit-eating grin on her face. Keith rolls his eyes, stomps down the steps and into the drive to peer into the back of her beetle. Sure enough, it’s almost entirely useless junk that he’s been storing in Shiro’s attic for years.

“Are those my Pokemon cards?”

“Yeah, Shiro nearly cried when he was showing them to me.” Pidge comments with a snort. “He said he bought you a hundred packages one year for Christmas because you said the only thing you wanted was a shiny Charizard card. And in the end, after opening and resealing every single package, there wasn’t a single one in any of them. So he had to buy it off Ebay and slip it into one of them so you’d think you found it all on your own and just got really lucky.”

“Pidge! You weren’t supposed to tell him! He still doesn’t know that!”

“Ah, damn, the illusion’s been ruined.” Keith rolls his eyes. “I haven’t been into Pokemon in like fifteen years, I think it’s safe to say you can share your secret now.”

Even as Keith says it, he picks up the binder full of cards with a gentleness that’s unlike himself. The thought of Shiro spending all that time agonizing over a stupid gift. It would’ve been just after they first met each other. Keith was a troubled student in middle school and Shiro was the annoyingly perfect class president in his final year of high school, doing every extracurricular he could in hopes of receiving a few scholarships. That meant volunteering as a “big brother” to a child in need. 

Ten year old Keith was a force to be reckoned with, and he would have sooner died than admitted to being a child_ or _being in need of anyone’s help. Shiro had his work cut out for him that first year, trying desperately to connect with Keith and forge a bond. Apparently, he’d turned to the help of material objects to gain Keith’s affection.

At the time, Shiro’s teenage job was at the local sandwich shop in town. He wasn’t making big bucks, definitely not enough to justify spending that much on trading cards. Especially not when he was saving up for university that upcoming year. 

Even back then, he’d really cared about Keith. In a way that went beyond scholarships.

Keith holds the binder to his chest and leads the way back to the house, leaves the rest of the box for Shiro to tote inside later. He hadn’t planned on a trip down memory lane tonight, but Pidge is clearly out to make him cry and get emotional again. Damn her.

A couple hours later and they’re all settled on the floor in the living room, flipping through old photo albums and making fun of Keith’s teenage obsession with emo bands. Nevermind that he still listens to most of them, at least he doesn’t wear the terrible merch and cover his entire eyelid with black eyeliner anymore. He’s progressed as a person, if only slightly, or so he likes to believe.

It’s not nearly as bad as he thought it might be, spending time with them and being lovingly teased for his questionable past choices. It feels right, the three of them hanging out together like so many times before, but in the new setting of his house. _ Keith’s house. _It still doesn’t feel real.

From the moment they arrived, Lance made himself completely scarce like usual. Keith isn’t sure yet if he’s nervous around new people or what, but he usually steers clear of public areas when Keith has his friends over. It’s not too worrisome, Keith can’t feel any strong negative or positive emotions one way or the other, so Lance might just be keeping himself busy in his own way. Kosmo is noticeably missing as well, so it’s likely they’re just off cuddling somewhere. 

Likely in the pile of clean laundry that Keith has been toting from Shiro’s house to this one. He meant to put it away in the wardrobe, given that it’s the only piece of furniture in his entire room, but instead it ended up all over his floor and abandoned there. Kosmo loves it, tunnels through it and sleeps amidst the mess. Lance loves it by extension, rolls around in the clothes and plays with Kosmo.

Pidge’s voice draws Keith away from his thoughts of Lance, back to the moment.

“God, remember when Matt asked out that girl in this photo? She rejected him because she was so convinced he was in love with Shiro that it made her feel insecure.” Pidge points to the girl in question, with long blonde hair and freckles dotted across her face. Keith vaguely remembers her, though it was always hard to keep up with Matt’s antics. He was always more Shiro’s friend than he was Keith’s, so he only got half the story more often than not.

“Well, come on, who can compare to Shiro?” Keith reasons, gesturing vaguely toward him. 

“Matt isn’t even interested in men!” As expected, Shiro is embarrassed by the entire topic. He’s never been a particularly overconfident person, never the type to brag. Being married has just made him even more humble about his good looks, to the point that when someone blatantly comes onto him in public, Shiro comes up with excuse after excuse explaining that their intentions weren’t at all sexual.

“I don’t know, he may have told me one that if he were to go gay for anyone it would be you.” Pidge has that meddling look on her face again, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose.

“Next time I hear from him I’m gonna ask if that’s true because I somehow feel like you’re lying.” 

“Good luck with that. He never fucking calls now that he’s famous.” Pidge mutters bitterly, and it’s far from the first time she’s expressed her frustration with Matt recently. No matter how much she tries to paint it as being annoyed with him, it’s clear that she really only misses his presence in her life. Keith kinda does too, oddly enough. Matt had always been Shiro’s annoying older friend that made jokes Keith didn’t understand and talked about girls way too much to be humanly healthy.

But… he introduced Keith to Pidge, and he completed their friend group with his talkative and outgoing personality. Things have been quiet without him.

“He’s a cameraman for a semi-popular wildlife youtuber, I wouldn’t call that_ famous _.”

“Yeah, well, explain that to the meme of him being stung on the ass by a warrior wasp then. It has like ten million views.”

“I thought it was a bullet ant?”

“No, that was a different video, this one-”

“Well, I’ll be the first to say it.” Shiro spoke up loudly, talking over both of them. Keith turns to him slowly, fully prepared for his brother to give one of his stereotypical cheesy speeches. It was really only a matter of time since Keith bought the house, Shiro’s probably been sitting on this for weeks. He’ll cry over how long he’s known Keith and how much he’s matured in that time, then he’ll wish him well with the rest of his life like they’ll never see each other again. 

But, instead of going teary-eyed, Shiro just claps Keith on the shoulder like he’s proud of him. Keith stares at the hand squeezing his upper arm. “I’m so glad you admitted you were wrong. The energy here feels so much nicer since you smudged the place. It really feels homey.”

A long, tense pause in the conversation and Shiro is starting to look suspicious.

“Pidge... _ told you _ about that?”

“Are you kidding me? I paid her a hundred bucks to slip the idea into your head and the sage into your pocket. I never expected you to listen to me, it was my last resort.”

“Oh.” Keith breathes, finding himself incapable of saying anything more. Shiro just keeps smiling at him so widely, so blindly encouraging even in the strange context. It makes Keith feel sick, to see him so plainly glorify the idea of murdering Lance, like he’s no more than some sort-of pest. Keith knows that they don’t understand, that they couldn't possibly hope to without meeting the ghost for themselves, but it still stings. Keith knows Lance, can’t imagine not knowing him now.

“You did use it, didn’t you?” Pidge’s voice cuts through the haze of Keith’s thoughts, a sense of urgency about it that says she already has her doubts in Keith. He looks at her, expression completely blank. He doesn’t want this conversation to continue any longer than it has to. It’s making him feel queasy.

“Obviously.” Keith scoffs, like the mere suggestion that he wouldn’t is a laughable one.

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I tried using the Ouija board again?”

“Pidge! You’re just gonna invite more of them in!” Shiro groans loudly, tipping his head back to rest against the leather of the couch, like he’s already given up on arguing. Keith debates for a moment, but figures this might be his best chance to put this whole topic to rest. He doesn’t want Pidge snooping around his house anymore, he doesn’t want Shiro to be so jumpy and nervous here. He just wants them to act normal for a change.

“Go ahead.” 

“Keith!” Shiro shoves him. “You guys are seriously aging me so much faster than children would have.”

“Whatever, old man. Let’s go summon the dead, old man.” Pidge sticks her tongue out at him, then gets up and heads toward the door. No doubt, she’s going to get her supplies. Keith debates following her before ultimately deciding to stay where he’s at. Shiro does though, gets to his feet and saunters after her, mumbling under his breath about needing to carry more boxes in anyway. 

And thus, Keith is left alone in the middle of the living room floor.

He hears Kosmo running down the stairs almost as soon as the door closes behind Shiro, the little tip taps of his nails reminding Keith that he’s due to have them trimmed. He opens his arms just in time for the dog to barrel into them. He holds Kosmo close, quietly praises him.

A quiet noise from behind Keith has him whipping around, eyes widening as they land on Lance.

“Check it out! Ouija time!” Pidge darts back into the house with terrible timing, toting the box above her head proudly. Keith doesn’t even look at her, just continues gaping at Lance, even though he knows it’ll raise suspicions. He can’t tear his gaze away. He can’t believe he’s in this situation. 

Pidge goes about setting up the game like there’s nothing out of the ordinary at all.

Keith continues to stare at Lance’s naked body.

“I’m sorry, I just got curious.” Lance tells him, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. He’s got his hands between his legs, trying to cover himself. It doesn’t really leave much to the imagination though, and Keith really can’t help his gaze from wandering. “I know the naked thing is weird for you, but it’d be even weirder for them to see floating clothes coming down the stairs, right?”

“Keith? What are you looking at?” Shiro asks, dropping another box onto the couch. He follows Keith’s line of sight, squinting when he doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Because there isn’t, technically, it just looks like Keith is staring off into space in the far corner of the living room.

“I forgot. I need to do something upstairs.” Keith gets to his feet, doesn’t even have it in him to scramble for a better excuse than that. He just starts walking. Hopes that Lance has the common sense to follow as he climbs the stairs and heads toward his room. Given that he can hear Kosmo following behind him, he figures Lance must be coming too.

He steps inside and Lance follows, still looking sheepish about his nudity.

The second the door is closed, Keith turns around to face him.

“What are you _ doing _?” Keith comes out with, just short of a hiss. He can’t help it, he can feel himself heating up in a blush all over and something about the embarrassment of it has him feeling ready to lash out at the smallest thing. He hopes no one else noticed.

“Socializing?” Lance tries, lacking confidence more and more the longer Keith stays gaping at him. He groans, kneeling down to pick up a shirt off the pile on the floor. Keith averts his eyes accordingly, doesn’t say a word while Lance gets dressed in the first of Keith’s clothes he comes across.

Eventually, Lance restarts the conversation. “You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“I’m not _ mad _.” Keith sighs, reaching up to bury his face into his hands. This situation is too much for him.

“You _ seem _ awfully mad.”

“I’m not mad!” Keith snaps at him before he can help it, lifting his gaze from the floor for the first time in the past minute. Lance is covered now, wearing a pair of loose baggy sweats and one of Keith’s favorite shirts, with little moths patterned all over it. Keith stares for a long moment. Processes it.

“I can take a hint, Keith.” Lance snaps right back at him, never one to back down from the challenges Keith presents. It should be expected at this point, but it always has Keith doing a bit of a double take, rethinking what he’s said. No one else is so quick to fight back against him, even when he’s in a volatile unpredictable mood like his current one. “You don’t want them to know I’m here.”

“It’s not that I don’t want them to know, I just-”

“You’re too proud to admit you were wrong about ghosts?” Lance suggests, or maybe accuses, it’s hard to tell when he lets his voice go all icy and cold like this. He’s so impassive, so neutral, it’s almost scary. It makes it hard to talk to him, would be impossible if Keith can’t feel how insecure he actually is. “You’re still not convinced I’m real and you don’t want them to think you’re crazy?”

“No!” Keith rushes out with, eager to comfort, more eager than he is to preserve his dignity. “I just don’t want them to look at you as a commodity! I don’t want Pidge to try and film you and put it on Youtube. I don’t want to listen to Shiro talk about you like you aren’t a person. I don’t want the world to know! I just need to process this on my own time, it’s all too new to get anyone else involved. You’re just too important for me to let anyone else’s opinions impact mine.”

Lance looks like he’s taking the time to consider what Keith is trying to say, at least.

“So… you’re trying to protect me? In your own weird way?”

“Yeah.” Keith breathes out a sigh of relief. “I mean, maybe someday I’ll introduce all of you, I’d like that. I just don’t think we’re ready for it to happen just yet.”

“Can I ask you one last thing? Before you go back downstairs?” Lance looks uncharacteristically nervous, none of the usual confidence he oozes in buckets. He’s second-guessing himself already, regretting saying a single word. Keith can feel how much he wishes he hadn’t spoken up and it’s painful. Keith can’t possibly reassure him fast enough, but he tries.

“Yeah, of course. Anything. You can ask me anything.” Keith tells him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. 

Slowly, Lance lifts his gaze to meet Keith’s, and immediately the atmosphere is much heavier.

“What made you change your mind?” He doesn’t even have to say it. Keith knows there can only be one thing that could make Lance look like that, completely and utterly broken, defeated. Keith should have known that Lance was listening, even if he wasn’t in sight. He doesn’t exactly have anything else to do around the house, it should have been a given that he was eavesdropping. “What made you decide not to smudge the house? Clearly you told them you were going to, at one point.”

“Lance.”

“I’m not asking for an apology. I just want an answer. I need to know.”

“I don’t-”

“It’s fine, Keith, I know it was a lot to deal with at first. I don’t blame you for thinking about it. I’m not accusing you of anything, I’m just-”

“It was a mistake.” Keith interrupts him loudly, loud enough that they can probably hear him from downstairs, but right now he doesn’t care. He stumbles forward, trips over the pile of clothes and falls straight into Lance, but that’d been where he was headed anyway. He collapses into Lance’s chest, throws his arms around the boy’s middle and simply holds him. He holds him so tight. 

“A… mistake?”

“It was a mistake to consider it. And it would have been the biggest mistake of my life if I’d actually done it that night.” Keith lifts his head, presses their foreheads together. Lance blinks back at him, his eyes so very invested in everything Keith is saying. “You hear me? I was scared and confused, I wasn’t thinking straight. And I am _ so _ incredibly thankful every day that I didn’t go through with it.”

“_ Yeah _?” Lance’s voice breaks. His lips are twitching with the effort not to frown, his eyes rapidly blinking as he fights off tears. He’s trying so damn hard to appear unaffected, to pretend that he understands where Keith was coming from, that it doesn’t even hurt. It has to hurt though. None of this has ever been Lance’s fault and to know that something so out of his control nearly cost him his life a second time around has to hurt. 

Especially when Lance has really only ever been kind to him. Aside from the occasional harmless prank or flirtatious advance, Lance has been the most respectful housemate of all time. He had every reason to be angry, to try to shoo Keith away from this place to never come back, to haunt him like a horror movie ghost would have. But Lance isn’t like that. Lance is good, through and through, and that’s why it makes Keith feel so terrible to think of what he’d almost done that day.

“Yeah.” Keith agrees, reaching up to cup Lance’s face between his hands. He smooths his thumbs across high cheekbones, quietly shushes Lance when he starts to tremble and cry. He’s quick to swipe the saltwater from his skin, uttering quiet assurances. “I mean it. I love having you here. You really make this place feel like home.”

“You ol’ softie, you.” 

“I’m sorry, Lance.” Keith tells him, more honest than he’s ever been. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Lance says gently, reaching up to settle a hand in Keith’s hair with far too much hesitance given all the times he’s done it in the past. Keith screws his eyes shut and leans into the touch, not unlike Kosmo might do, but he doesn’t care. He just needs Lance to know that it’s okay, that he wants him. 

“It’s not okay.” 

“You didn’t even_ do _ anything, Keith. I’m still here.”

“It doesn’t matter what I did. I can’t believe I even _ thought _ about it.”

“People do crazy things when they’re scared. I know that better than anyone.”

“I will spend the rest of our time together trying to make it up to you. I want you to know that you’re wanted, that you aren’t a nuisance or a problem to be solved. You’re my friend. And I...” Keith trails off, scowling in annoyance as he tries and fails to say the actual words he wants to. He just huffs in the end, settles for second best. “I _ care _ about you a lot, alright? You’re not going anywhere. You’re just as much a part of my life as Pidge and Shiro are. If you wanna come downstairs, go ahead. I’ll try my best to ignore the naked thing.”

“Thanks. That means a lot to me.” Lance tells him, genuine. But then something mischievous starts to spark in his eyes, lips twitching upward with the urge to smirk. It’s ridiculous, how quickly Lance can shift moods, from the verge of tears to salacious with intent. “I know it’s hard for you. To ignore me. Between the legs that just don’t quit, the ass that mama gave me, and don’t even get me started on how unfairly _ huge _ my-”

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t make me laugh when I’m trying to cry.” Keith shoves Lance away, reaches up to swipe at his own face a few times for good measure, just in case any tears did manage to slip out without him noticing. Lance doesn’t look like he has any intentions of stopping though, as he makes a show of slowly pulling the shirt back over his head, torso rolling languidly like it’s a filthy striptease. “Stop it!”

And then the sexy smirk drops from Lance’s face, replaced by a smile so bright that it immediately puts everything else to shame. Lance giggles, falling into Keith again for support.

“I can’t _ help it _, I like you when you’re smiling so much better.”

“Keep it up and I’ll make you wear a white sheet downstairs, you can moan beguilingly for the camera while Pidge films it to put online.” Keith warns, jabbing a finger into Lance’s chest. Lance just rolls his eyes, reaches up between them to grab Keith’s hand and take it in his own. They hold eye contact as Lance slowly uncurls each of Keith’s fingers from the fist, weaves his own between them.

“Keith, if you’re trying to find ways to make me moan I’m sure you can be more creative than th-”

The door flies open without any warning.

“Keith?” Pidge walks into the room, just as Lance’s pants hit the floor with a quiet rustle. Keith doesn’t dare look down, to where he can feel Lance pressed so closely to him, now in a state of undress all over again. The seconds tick by. Pidge simply stares. “Were you… talking to someone in here?”

“Nope.” Keith answers, like a liar. He watches helplessly as Lance walks away from him, toward where Pidge is still lingering in the doorway. A sense of dread envelopes him. “Did you get anything? With the Ouija board?”

“Uh, no…” Pidge trails off, eyebrows furrowing as Lance’s body passes through her, out into the hallway like she isn’t even there. “I’m still not convinced the house is clear, though.”

“Why not?” 

“Keith, look at this!” Lance exclaims excitedly, and Keith has to summon every strength of self control he has in him to keep from reacting when Lance’s hand plunges through Pidge’s torso, appearing out through her stomach and wiggling threateningly. “Ah! I’m birthing a strange ghost hand straight out of my stomach! Ahh! I’m dying!”

“It’s just a feeling I got when I walked in this room.” Pidge muses, reaching up to scratch her chin in deep thought. All the while, Lance’s hand continues to thrash through her stomach. “Like I’m being watched.”

“That’s weird, considering you definitely are not being watched.”

“You sure you’re not possessed? You’re acting weird.” It’s mostly a joke, just a playful observation made at Keith’s expense. But he’s so close to the verge of hysteria it isn’t funny, as he watches Lance continue to bounce eagerly around his friend, familiarizing himself like some sort of big, clingy, naked puppy.

Keith watches in horror as Lance brings a hand down to her hair and actually touches it, meaning he must be physically manifesting himself. If she were to turn around right not she would crash into him, she would feel it, what the fuck is he thinking?!

“Oh. My. God.” Lance gasps, continuing to pat her on the head. “Her hair is _ so _ soft!”

At that, Pidge’s hand darts up behind her head and slaps around, and Lance narrowly avoids being hit.

“I’m pretty sure a spider just fell on me? Gross.” Pidge shivers, folding her arms over herself.

“Rude!” The screech of offense is ungodly, and Keith feels his lips twitch imperceptibly as he crosses the room to Pidge’s side. He gestures past her, out into the hallway.

“Shall we go back downstairs?”

“We… shall?” Pidge replies slowly, hesitant. Keith is probably still acting weird compared to usual, in her defense, he can see how that’s possible. He just can’t imagine acting normal when Lance is proudly strutting along beside them, in all his naked glory. It’s worse than before, now that Lance knows Keith and considers him a friend. He keeps making eye contact and smiling, all sweet-like, like Keith has given him the world just by letting him hang-out in the same room as everyone else. It’s not something he deserves, and it’s not something he can take much more of before he turns into a pile of goo.

It doesn’t necessarily get any easier once they’re back in the living room and back to sorting through all of Keith’s old stuff. Lance just stays perched on the couch, watching them like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, just humans interacting like they normally would. Keith is trying to cut him a break because he knows how much this means to Lance, but there’s been a couple times now where Lance couldn’t resist and touched either Shiro or Pidge, and they’re starting to talk about busting the Ouija board out again. Which Keith really isn’t feeling up to.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink, you guys want anything?” Keith addresses the room, earning nods and thumbs up all around. With that, he abandons the donations box he’s been compiling and heads for the kitchen instead. He doesn’t need to look to know that Lance is following after him.

The second he’s opened the fridge and leaned down into it, he feels Lance’s sheepishness as he enters the room. There’s a considerable amount of genuine guilt there too, like he thinks Keith is gonna get mad and scold him again. It’s too painful, Keith immediately forgets his own discomfort. 

“Sorry. I’m being weird, aren’t I? It’s just been a really long time since I’ve been around this many people at once. I forgot how fun it is.” Lance looks down at him, leaning back against the counter. He’s covering himself with his hands again and Keith can’t help but chuckle as he pours three glasses full of water and takes a long sip from one. “I can tone it down.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, I think I should tone it down.” Lance continues, beginning to pace. “Should I maybe just go upstairs and hide out? I’m definitely being weird, they can tell I’m here, it’s weird all around. I’m just gonna-”

“It’s_ fine _, Lance.” Keith sighs, stepping into his path and placing his hands on Lance’s shoulders, forcibly planting him to the ground so he can’t keep pacing a hole into the floor. Lance avoids meeting his gaze, but Keith just leans into his line of view anyway. He barely gets a glimpse at worried blue eyes before they’re darting away again. He’s so worked up over this, so flighty and nervous. “Calm down.”

“What if they hate me?”

“They don’t even know you’re here.” Keith argues gently, squeezing his shoulders reassuringly.

“I think they hate me.”

“They don’t hate you.” Keith heaves out a sigh, reaching up to scrub a hand over his face. Lance is still panicking though, he can feel it like a memory in his own chest, anxiety causing his pulse to skyrocket and his pores to sweat. He’s not sure how much more of it he can take. He needs to find a way to soothe Lance and calm his worries. 

He grabs the glasses of water he’d poured for the others, gives Lance a lingering smile. “Look, just stick close to me and you’ll be fine. Come on.”

He hands each water off and then falls back onto the couch, stretching languidly out across the entire length of it. He picks up a handful of paint swatches off the coffee table, pretends to be distracted by them when in reality he’s watching Lance. He’s frozen beside the couch, uncertain what to do with himself. Keith throws his arm out with a long yawn, trying to play the movement off as something beyond his control.

Meanwhile, he grabs Lance’s wrist and yanks hard, until he’s falling onto the couch on top of Keith.

“Keith... you’re holding me.” 

“I’m aware.” Keith whispers back, trying to school his features into a neutral expression. It’s hard though, with Lance propped up on top of him, staring down at him so fondly. His heart is racing, feeling heavy with emotions. He’s pretty sure only half of them are Lance’s. 

“You’re holding me even though I’m _ naked _.” 

“I’m _ very _aware.” He stares a damn hole right through those paint swatches, as Lance finally grows comfortable enough to shift around and relax against Keith’s body. 

“Remember the first night we did this? You freaked out the next day.” Lance reminds him unhelpfully, placing an elbow onto Keith’s chest so he can rest his chin in his palm and stare down at him. Keith’s gaze keeps flicking away from the paint swatches for a split second, back to Lance’s, just long enough to register the adoration swirling there before quickly darting away again. And then, inevitably… trailing back again. He can’t get used to having a look like that directed at_ him _.

Keith makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. Lance grins even harder.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re freaking out again. You’re so cute when you get all flustered about this stuff.”

“Yeah?” Keith croaks out before he can stop himself, showing exactly how invested he is in the answer.

“Adorable.” Lance assures him, with a wink. 

“Thanks.” It’s the dumbest conversation to be risking right now, in a room full of other people. But Keith can’t bring himself not to talk to Lance at the best of times, and certainly not now when he has to fill the silence or address the fact that he has that long, lithe body pressed up against his. It’s a test of willpower that he really should have thought through better. He’s blushing so hard there’s no way it isn’t noticeable to everyone else in the room.

“Did you say something?” Pidge asks, looking over at him with suspicion. 

“Yeah, sorry. I can’t decide between these colors and it’s really getting on my nerves.” Keith lies easily, flashing the cards around. He’d only picked them up as a distraction, but now he’s thankful for being handed the perfect excuse.

“Let me help you out.” Pidge demands, snatching the color swatches out of his hands. She doesn’t take much time to dwell on it before shoving one back at him. “This one’s ugly, but that one’s uglier.”

“Why is everyone so mean to me about my paint choices?!”

“Because they always suck.” Pidge and Lance both say it at the exact same time, it’s almost eerie.

“You always suck.” Keith exhales loudly, rolling his eyes in retaliation. Lance is grinning something devilish back at him and Keith can’t help it, he needs to wipe that smirk off his face before his ego gets too big and he starts pulling shit like this on purpose to mess with him. Besides, all Lance really wants is to be included, and Keith really wants to give him what he wants. “_ Both _of you.”

“Hey! I didn’t even say anything!” Shiro huffs, throwing his hands up. It wasn’t about Shiro, but let him believe that if he wants. Lance knows who he said it for, knows who he was going out of his way to address on purpose. He can tell from the warmth that floods his chest.

“Thank-you.” Lance breathes, leaning in close and curling into Keith’s chest. He presses his face into Keith’s neck, smiling so wide that he can feel the curl of lips against his pulse point. Keith doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. He just smiles stupidly into his glass of water. “Thank-you so much for this. I really needed it.”

“Don’t mention it.” Keith risks replying. He doesn’t care if Pidge hears it and casts him the most puzzled look of all time. He doesn’t care about anything but the breathy little laugh he can feel as Lance’s lips ghost across his neck. 

\--

“That’s the third day in a row they’ve been here, you must be exhausted with all this socializing.”

“They’re my friends, it’s _ mean _ to call them exhausting.” Keith sighs dramatically, collapsing against the door as soon as their cars have pulled away and he can shut it. He groans, face-planting and dragging his cheek down the entire length of the door, until he’s sitting on the floor. Kosmo comes over to worriedly inspect him, mauling him with kisses. Keith shoves him off. “Actually, fuck it, I _ am _ exhausted.”

“Maybe you should take the night off? We could watch a movie together?” Lance suggests, clapping his hands together excitedly like he already knows Keith’s answer. Keith could swear that Lance just has a running list of movies planned out ahead of them for the rest of time. 

“But I don’t get anything done while they’re here, now I have to crunch time to make up for every hour I missed working while they were here.” Keith whines, but he picks himself up off the floor all the same and starts brushing himself off. He really does need to get stuff done, as nice as a night in with just Lance and his couch sounds. 

He can feel Lance’s gaze on him. When he lifts his head, he’s not surprised to see the pout on Lance’s lips, the troubled scrunch to his eyebrows. “I swear to god, if you give me a speech about overworking myself again I’m just gonna send you to live with Shiro. You’re too much like him.”

“It’s called caring about your well-being, you should try it sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe when I have the time to spare.” Keith rolls his eyes, shoving past Lance and heading for the stairs. He’s behind schedule and the movers are already starting to arrive with all his brand new purchases, meaning the living room is more of a disaster drop zone than a usable space. He has to duck and dive between random odds and ends of furniture to get anywhere.

He’s finally made it to the base of the stairs, hand gripping the railing, when Lance calls after him.

“At least let me make you dinner for when you finish.”

Keith pauses, something frantic about the way he whips around to look at Lance. He swears his stomach is rumbling already, just at the thought of it. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s fucking starving. He hasn’t eaten the whole day. Besides, he can’t even _ remember _ the last time he had a home-cooked meal and the mere idea of it sounds like heaven to him.

“You can _ cook _?” Keith chokes out, as Lance effortlessly weaves through the mess in the room and joins him in a matter of seconds. 

“Firstly, I’m incredibly offended by that.” Lance steps closer, pokes a finger into Keith’s forehead. He looks up at it until he goes cross-eyed. “Secondly, yes. I told you, I spent my entire childhood hanging out in the kitchen with my mama. I learnt from the best. And now you have all these brand new sexy kitchen appliances calling my name. Come on, Keith, it was only a matter of time.”

“Fuck.” Keith breathes, unable to ward away the smile that takes over his entire face. “Okay.”

“What do you have for me to work with?” Lance rolls his sleeves up his arms, face set in a steely sense of determination as he heads toward the kitchen. Keith follows blindly behind, Kosmo hot on their heels, like he can sense the promised food ahead too. His stomach is definitely growling now, he won’t even try to deny it. He’s ravenous all of the sudden.

Only to wrench open the fridge and feel the hope leave his body in one long exhale of horror.

“We only have half a case of beer and pizza pockets.” Keith informs Lance grimly, looking up at him with a sweet smile, like maybe Lance somehow has a recipe in his arsenal that’ll be able to utilize those. Lance looks horrified, like Keith has done some unjust horror by letting his fridge be so barren.

“God, you’re such a fucking idiot. How do you even keep yourself _ alive _?” 

“Hey! I take offense to th-” There’s a potential argument brewing there, with Keith as short-tempered and exhausted as he is, ready to snap at the slightest thing and blow it out of proportion. But then Lance settles a hand on his cheek, soft and comforting, a patient caress that follows the line of his jaw. Keith goes limp, leans into the touch so heavily that he nearly loses balance.

Lance just smiles at him, eyes swimming with affection.

“Poor baby, been such a long time since anyone’s taken care of you, hasn’t it?” 

“Mhm.”

“I’ll write an ingredient list and you can make a quick run to the store before starting work, yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

“You’re gonna love it, trust me. It’ll be worth every penny you spend. The best meal you’ve ever had.”

“You should really work on the way you talk yourself up.”

“Well, you haven’t been disappointed yet, have you?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“I rest my case.” Lance turns around, shoves the piece of paper into Keith’s chest. As soon as Keith takes it into his hands, Lance goes back to bustling around the kitchen and turning on the sink. Keith can barely hear him over the running water, as his eyes skim through the long list of things Lance wants him to buy. He’s never had such an extensive grocery trip in his life. “Make sure you get the _ exact _ brands listed. You don’t fuck around when it comes to my Mama’s recipes, you hear me? You buy the wrong brand of pasta noodles and this whole thing falls apart. I’m counting on you.”

“No pressure or anything.” Keith mumbles to himself, zoning out as he stares at the lengthy list written in that same beautiful hand-writing he’s come to associate with Lance. He hears the shift of movement, but reacts too late and ends up with a dish towel smacking him across the ass hard enough to jolt him back into alertness.

“Lots of pressure, Keith, the best meal of your life depends on this list!” Lance reminds him, clapping his hands together. Keith blinks a few times, reorienting himself and reaching around to cup his ass where it’s still stinging from the impact. “Well, what are you waiting for? Chop, chop! Get! Get outta here! Go fetch! I’ll be here, slaving over the sink because _ someone _ has to do all these dishes you’ve left in the sink _ unwashed _ , like an _ animal _.”

“Thank-you, Lance.” Keith laughs, he can’t help it. Lance is so damn bossy, you would think it’d be at least a little bit off-putting. But Keith can only bring himself to find it endearing, especially when Lance keeps pausing what he’s doing to glance back over his shoulder, fighting a smile of his own as his eyes meet Keith’s. “Really, I do appreciate it. I’ll pay you back.”

“Unlike my local introvert I’ve so kindly adopted, I’ve been enjoying having all the company in the house all the time. You’ve already made it up to me by involving me as much as you have.” Lance tells him, and even though there’s a playful edge to his voice still, it’s clear that he means what he’s saying. Keith steps closer, places a hand on Lance’s back and rubs it. “This is me repaying_ you _. I’m helping you recharge.”

“You don’t need to repay me, I_ liked _ involving you. This is just a win-win for me.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky?” Lance teases, smiling at him with that same flirty grin Ketih has seen so many times before. Somehow, it still never ceases to impress, to send butterflies spiraling in his stomach.

“I’ll be back soon.” Keith announces, giving Kosmo a pat on the head on his way out of the kitchen. Now that he’s on his way, there’s no stopping him. Someone’s lit a fire under his ass and he’s on the move. All the work he’d been so desperate to get done is taking a backseat to the prospect of homemade meals, of eating dinner at his new kitchen table with Lance joking and carrying on across from him.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will, don’t crash into anyone in your haste to get home. Jesus.” Lance laughs at him, waving him off. Keith just sticks his tongue out back at him, but the moment he’s around the corner he runs toward the door so fast his sock-covered feet nearly slip out from under him. Whatever. Maybe he’s the slightest bit excited about this. Sue him.

\--

“Honey, I’m home.” Keith calls as he steps through the door, juggling an overflowing armful of grocery bags, each of them threatening to topple to the ground at any given moment. Lance rounds the corner at the same time as Kosmo, but unlike the dog relentlessly trying to knock Keith over, he helps reassure his balance by taking a few of the bags off his hands.

“You’re funny.”

“I like to think I am.” Keith responds, grinning widely as he follows Lance back into the kitchen. “I got everything you asked for. I had to go to _ three _different stores to find it all.”

“Sounds about right.” Lance hums, digging through the bags and slowly checking everything over. He’s meticulous about it, lips set in a thin straight line, eyes narrowed critically. “I never said it was going to be easy. All I promised was that I’d make it worth your while.”

Keith leans back against the door frame and simply observes, watching as Lance quickly goes about organizing the ingredients and taking inventory. Then he’s headed to the counter where he has all his dishes laid out, grabs a big pan and carries it back to the table. Keith watches him work, opening up the chicken and preparing it to cook.

“How long will it take?” His patience is already waning and it’s only been a minute. 

“You can’t rush perfection.” Lance sing-songs back at him, dancing back over to the oven. It’s already turned on and being preheated, something that Keith has never in his life taken the time to do for anything he’s cooked. Lance comes back to the table, starts opening up all the different spices that his list had called for. He sniffs them, as if to test their strength. Keith has never been the type to add spice to his food beyond salt or pepper, he takes a curious step closer. 

Lance turns on him, eyes narrowed. “Are you planning on hovering over me the entire time?”

“Can I?” Keith asks, hopeful.

“No. Go do your work.” The order is clear enough as it is, but Lance accentuates it with another whip of a towel to Keith’s ass and damn, he hopes that isn’t going to become a habit. Keith scowls at him and Lance just grins, toothy and wolfish. “I’ll come get you when it’s almost ready. Go on. You said it was important and you were behind schedule. So go and do it.”

“Fine.” 

“You’ll only get in the way here.” Lance tells him, shooing him out of the room. Keith frowns the entire way, until he’s deposited in the living room and Lance is left rushing back to the kitchen. Quietly, he hears a muffled whimper and looks over to see Kosmo sadly watching him from the couch. His tail thuds weakly against the cushion and Keith sighs.

“You got kicked out too, buddy?”

For the most part, Keith follows Lance’s orders and focuses on his work. He’s painting Lance’s room now and he really does want it to be perfect, can only imagine how excited Lance is going to be once they finally get around to shopping for his furniture. Keith figures they’ll have to do it online, so Lance can be there with him and call all the shots.

Of course, Keith is only human, and when the most aromatic delicious smell he’s ever smelled in his life starts to drift upstairs… it becomes too hard to concentrate on work. He heads back down, lingers in the living room, sits on the couch next to Kosmo and they both try to sneak peeks at Lance in the kitchen while he works. He’s a force to be reckoned with, zooming all around like a little worker bee. Keith sees how he would’ve gotten in the way, in hindsight.

But the smell is so strong from here, Keith is sure the food must be almost finished.

He gets up, tries to act discreet as he wanders into the kitchen without any real purpose. Lance has his back turned to him at first, so Keith has time to slide in close behind him and lean over his shoulder to peek at what he’s doing. Lance turns around suddenly, crashes into Keith and just barely manages to shelter the smoldering saucepan from being shoved into Keith’s gut.

“Keith! I told you that I’d come and get you when it was ready!” Lance scolds him, slamming the pan back down on the stove so he could whip the baking mitts off and shove his hands into Keith’s chest. He corrals him out of the room again, pushing relentless until Keith’s reluctantly walking backwards out of the room.

“But it smells so good! Can I at least lick a spoon or something?”

“You’re worse than Kosmo, you know that?” Lance relents slightly though at the compliment, points to the kitchen table instead of banishing Keith entirely out of the room. It’s not much, but Keith will definitely take it. It’s a step up from being on the couch with the dog. “Go sit down. I’m almost done.”

Keith stays sitting at the table and idly watches Lance while he works, unable to fight the smile from his face. Lance is something else, the way he flies around when he has his mind set on something. He’s determined and stubborn, but he’s soft and loving just as much. Keith admires it all.

It’s not a far stretch to think that Lance must be a lot like his mother, after spending so much time with her in his childhood. The way he’d described her made her sound so powerful and intimidating, but kind all the same. Keith wonders if Lance would like to hear that he’s like that, too. In his own way.

“Hey, can I ask you a depressing question?” Keith asks, head resting in his hands. Lance chuckles, turning around to cast him a wary glance. He relaxes at whatever he sees on Keith’s face, no doubt the dopey lovelorn expression Keith knows he’s wearing. He doesn’t try to wipe it off anymore. Doesn’t care that much if Lance sees it. If he knows.

“Wow, you really know how to set a mood.” Lance jokes, but he nods his head just the same. “Go for it.”

“What were your future plans, you know, when you were alive?”

“_ Why _?”

“I mean, I assume you wanted a family of your own. You’re pretty family-oriented.” Keith observes, trying to be careful. Lance has gone rigid in front of the stove, none of the loose movement and fidgeting he’d been doing before while he cooked. “You’d just be really good at it. Raising kids, taking care of people, turning a house into a home. It’s like… your thing.”

“Are you calling me hubby material?” Lance says slowly, like he’s testing out the idea on his tongue. And then he’s turning around, food abandoned so he can walk over and lean over the table Keith is draped out across. Keith looks up at him, his smile bashful. “Gonna put a ring on it because I made you dinner? Are you really that easy?”

“It just seems like a shame that you missed out on all of that.” Keith says softly, staring at Lance’s hand where it rested just a few inches from one of his. He shifted his closer, brushed the very edges of their fingertips together. Lance had been starting to lose himself to his thoughts, but he perks up at the touch, confidently grabs Keith’s hand and squeezes with none of the shy hesitance that Keith clung to.

“I guess it is.” Lance reckons, sliding into the chair beside him. “I cried about it. A lot. When I first died.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Lance glances toward the stove, tries to gauge how close to burning the food is. Then he looks back to Keith, gives a helpless shrug of his shoulders, looking so incredibly small. “But… I don’t know. I accepted it and I started building new future plans, seeing as it seemed like I would be here for a while. When the universe throws a wrench in your plans, all you can really do is take what you’re being given and find a use for it.”

Lance jumps to his feet then rushes back over to the stove, just in time. It hadn’t even started to smoke yet, but it was coming, and Lance seemed capable of detecting exactly when. Keith stares at him in awe.

“You were a wrench.” Keith blurts, and then when Lance inevitably looks at him like he’s the biggest idiot this side of the galaxy, he takes it upon himself to elaborate equally as stupidly. “In my plans.”

“You really fucking suck at this romance thing, don’t you?”

“I thought I had everything figured out. I thought I knew what I wanted.” Keith is making his best effort to reel it back in, to make what he’s saying make any semblance of sense at all. It’s just so hard to put words to what he’s feeling. He wishes that Lance could just feel it too, could read Keith like Keith seems to be able to read him. It’d be so much easier than trying to express it. “You keep proving me wrong.”

“Yeah?” Lance has turned away from the stove completely now, is leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and his hair falling in his eyes. He looks so damn shy, like he can’t truly comprehend what Keith is saying to him, even now that it’s becoming clearer what it actually means.

Keith meets his gaze, ignores how nervous it makes him.

“The world just seems so much bigger than myself now.” Keith continues, quietly. “All of my old dreams and goals… they seem so barren. I feel like I have to rewrite every area of my life to include you and at first that terrified me, I didn’t want to give anything up to accommodate for anyone else. Now I’m just so glad I met you when I did, that I didn’t waste anymore time pursuing things that were so pointless.”

“This sounds an awful lot like a love confession to the untrained ear, just so you’re aware.” Lance informs him, but it isn’t as natural as most of his jokes. There’s a hint of tension there, and Keith can feel just bare beginnings of anxiety growing in Lance’s gut and overtaking the positive feel-good emotions between them. Lance is smiling though, so hard his eyes are crinkling at the corners, so that has to mean that Keith’s doing something right.

But then he’s turning away, going back to work on the food… and Keith feels like he’s lost something tangible. He needs Lance to look at him right now, needs Lance to understand, needs Lance to_ see _him.

Keith gets to his feet and walks over to stand behind him at the stove. Lance doesn’t say a word, just leans back into his chest and lets Keith wrap his arms around his middle. Keith presses his lips to the nape of Lance’s neck, doesn’t pucker up and kiss him there, but doesn’t back away either.

“And if it is?” Keith asks in a whisper, voice barely carrying the words when they’re so indescribably heavy with emotion. Lance stiffens against him, but he doesn’t turn to look at him. He just pauses everything he’s doing, even the constant stirring of the sauce in the pan. He inhales sharply. Exhales.

“If it is, then you’d better rethink what you’re doing.” 

“Wh-”

“Food’s ready!” Lance shouts, so loudly and enthusiastically that Kosmo comes barreling into the room in hopes of seeing what all the fuss is about. Lance spins around in Keith’s hold, grips his hips and walks him backward a few steps. Keith goes willingly, mind still spinning with shock.

And then he’s being pushed down into a chair again, left alone at the table with his thoughts while Lance rushes to plate his food and serve it to him. Keith watches him unseeingly, too caught up in his own thoughts and trying to process what just happened. Did Lance just… reject him? Or did he reject the confession altogether, try to tell Keith that that’s not what he’s feeling?

“I-” Keith starts to say, because he’s absolutely certain he has something to say about this even if he hasn’t figured out what it is yet. But he doesn’t get the chance to finish, a heaping plate of food placed down in front of him with a gentle clank. His eyes widen in awe.

“Dig in. Tell me what you think. I’m gonna savor every single reaction seeing as I can’t eat the food, so don’t be modest about it. Moan in ecstasy as loudly as you need to.”

It’s all happened so fast that Keith didn’t even have time to register Lance’s emotions to go off of, was left blind and floundering for answers. But now, as Lance slides into the seat across from him and stares at the plate, eyes wide and invested in Keith’s official review of the food...

Keith can feel the sadness under the surface. The bitter and hollow feeling of insecurity. The sharp blade of self-hate sweeping forward with blow after blow to Lance’s core. The pain, so succinct, like Lance could cry at any given second if he stopped making an effort to hold it at bay. 

Keith’s confession had _ hurt _ him. Somehow. Even more than bringing up his lost future had.

With that in mind, he decides to just drop the topic altogether. He doesn’t bring it back up no matter how much he’s dying to. He wants to know, wants to talk it out with Lance. He’s just not sure how to make that happen, it’s so hard to navigate a situation like this even in normal circumstances. He just… he really thought that Lance felt the same? Hell, he was certain of it. 

And now _ Keith _ is hurting, second-guessing himself for ever bringing his feelings up, for assuming that Lance would ever return them. He’s made things weird now, he’s sure of it. The only friends he’s ever made in his life had been handed to him by default, he’d never naturally clicked with anyone like he did with Lance, and now he’s messing it all up in typical-Keith fashion.

He shovels the first bite of food into his mouth carelessly and almost spills it, chews it so angrily that Lance can surely hear it from the other side of the table. The scowl drops the second he actually registers what he’s tasting. It’s the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten. Lance wasn’t even kidding, that bastard.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah?” Lance prompts, fishing for further compliments as he leans across the table. Keith nods eagerly, shoveling a few more bites into his mouth in rapid succession. Every single one is just as awe-inspiring as the last, so it isn’t a fluke. Lance is really just this good at cooking, because of course he is. 

“Lance, this is amazing!” 

“Best meal you’ve ever had?”

“Yes!” Keith agrees, his discrepancies momentarily forgotten because he can’t focus on anything other than the flavor bursting across his taste buds. It’s unlike anything he’s ever tasted and he can’t physically shove enough down his throat fast enough. “Yes, oh my god, this is unreal.”

“Fuck. Keep going. Tell me more.” Lance purrs exaggeratedly, biting his lip for effect. But underneath the teasing, it’s all too clear that this really means a lot to Lance. He’s genuinely proud of his cooking abilities and Keith isn’t about to deny him the praise he deserves, even if things are weird between them now.

“I’m not going to stop eating until this entire plate is gone, not even long enough to review it.”

“No! Tell me what you think!” Lance insists, kicking his foot under the table. Keith kicks back, as he continues to chow down so quickly that every bite threatens to choke him. As if sensing this, Lance grabs him one of the remaining beers out of the fridge, sets it down beside him. “Come on! Tell me how great I am some more, you know I love that.”

“You are _ amazing _.” Keith enthuses, eyes falling closed as he savors another bite. Lance lets out an overjoyed squeal of a noise, quickly darting into the chair closer to Keith. No one has ever watched Keith so avidly while chewing and it should be unnerving, but because it’s Lance he only feels comfortable.

“Final thoughts?”

“You say that as if I’m not going to eat five more plates.” Keith counters, eyebrows raised in a challenge that Lance reads all too well. He just laughs though, doesn’t rush to force more food into Keith. To be fair, he’s probably eaten about three portions on that one plate alone, but he’s happily gorge himself to death on food that tasted so good.

Instead, Lance darts over to the fridge and brings him back another beer. Keith quirks an eyebrow as he opens the bottle, a smirk hesitating to form. He’s not sure where they stand, how much flirting is an acceptable amount right now, but… “You tryna get me drunk?”

“Might have to for what I’m about to ask for.”

“Go on.”

“You wanna watch a movie with me _ now _? And can I pick what it is?” Lance asks, fingertips dancing along Keith’s arm, walking up the length of his bicep. Keith swats his hand away, grumbles slightly as he leans back in his chair and chugs back the drink.

“Must be a really shitty movie if you have to bribe me.”

“It’s not! It’s one of my favorite movies ever, but it’s not really your type of thing.”

“A romance movie?” Keith groans, already resigned to his fate. He would never, ever let Lance know it, but the last time they’d done this and he’d put on The Proposal… Keith had secretly enjoyed himself. But he’s pretty sure it was only because Ryan Reynolds was on screen most of the movie.

“It’s a_ classic _.”

“You say that about every movie you like.”

“Yeah, and?” Lance huffs, puffing his cheeks out in frustration. Keith can’t help it, he feels a smile coming on that he can’t fight. He shakes his head fondly, shrugs his shoulders in defeat. He doesn’t really want to say no anyway. Spending time with Lance is worth it no matter how terrible the movie is.

“I suppose it is the_ least _ I could do after you fed me so well.” 

“Oh? Are we going back to complimenting me?” 

“You could be a famous chef.” 

“Maybe we could do a Ratatouille thing, I could be the rat in your hat, guide your body to make wonderful food together. I could be famous yet.” Lance grins, leaning in to knock their shoulders together, head resting on Keith’s for just the slightest passing second. And then he’s retreating, grabbing up the dirty plate on his way and rinsing it off in the sink. Keith watches him go, eyes falling to the sway of his hips. He figures fair’s fair, Lance perved on him for a lot longer than Keith has returned it.

He only thinks to look away at the last possible second, when Lance turns around and wipes his hands off on the borrowed pair of Keith’s grey sweatpants he’s been wearing lately. They look so much better on him, it really isn’t fair. “Come on, I already set up the movie while you were upstairs.”

“You must have been pretty confident in your ability to convince me.” Keith calls after him, as he disappears into the other room. Now that he’s alone, Keith tips his head back and exhales loudly, admitting that he probably overate in retrospect. He feels like he has to be _ rolled _away from the table.

“Well, if the food didn’t work, there was always a plan B.” Lance grins, poking his head back around the corner. Keith glances up at him, instantly detecting the mischief in his tone. Lance smirks at him, slouches his shoulder just so, so that the sleeve will fall down it and expose his collarbone. Keith drinks in the exposed skin like a man starved, ironically enough. 

“Plan B?”

“Take off my clothes and then ask you again.” Lance says, pursing his lips to blow Keith a kiss and then once again disappearing into the other room. Keith sits there in a state of shock afterward, face alight with a blush because surely that was the boldest Lance had been about his flirting yet? So… maybe flirting was still on the table. Maybe Keith had just misheard him earlier when he was so worked up over confessing his feelings, misinterpreted what he meant.

Keith joins him in the living room a few minutes later, falls onto the couch and stretches out across the length of it like the greedy bastard he is. Lance is busy anyway, kneeling in front of Keith’s computer that’s set up to the television, skipping through ads to get straight to the movie.

When he eventually stands up and turns around, he doesn’t even seem surprised to see Keith taking up the entire couch as usual. He just pouts slightly as he paces back over and shoves Keith’s feet aside, only to pull them back to his lap once he’s settled. Keith hums, eyes already threatening to fall closed, after eating enough to sustain a lengthy hibernation.

Lance’s thumb digs into the arch of his bare foot though, wakes him up instantly.

“The whole point of watching a movie together is so I can show it to you. Stay awake!”

“Dirty Dancing? Sounds like a porno.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never even_ heard _ of it!” Lance cries out, like he’s been deeply betrayed. Keith shrugs his shoulders indifferently, leans his head back against the armrest and gets comfortable for the next hour at least. Obviously he’s heard the name thrown around, he’s just never… watched it. He knows Patrick Swayze is in it, that he wears a skinny tank top and throws pretty women around. That’s about the extent of what he knows.

But not to worry, Lance is all too eager to teach him all about it.

The movie starts and Lance immediately starts humming along to the opening song, like he knows the lyrics off by heart despite the fact it definitely came out before he was even born. That should be the first sign that Keith is in for more than he realizes, but he’s too busy starting in on his third beer to think much of it, really.

The movie stretches on. There’s a lot going on, Keith fails to keep up with any of it other than how badly the main characters obviously want to bone each other. Why they haven’t yet is beyond him.

And, in a not at all surprising turn of events, they eventually end up banging like they do in all these romance movies. Patrick Swayze is shirtless in his little cabin listening to music and the girl shows up wearing completely white, practically asking to be ravaged. She’s dropping some not so subtle hints and-

“Me? I’m scared of everything! I’m scared of what I saw, I’m scared of what I did, of who I am. And, most of all, I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you.” Lance chokes out from the opposite end of the couch, quoting the movie that he’s now admitted to seeing at least twenty times. _ Twenty. Times _. Keith can’t remember ever doing anything twenty times in his entire life and still enjoying it the twenty-first time. 

Lance sighs dreamily as the main characters start grinding on each other again, like a couple of horny teenagers. He readjusts himself where he’s curled up between Keith’s legs, with his head now resting on Keith’s stomach. Keith is a little bit too tipsy to keep from reaching down to run his hand through Lance’s hair, distractedly playing with silky smooth strands as he zones out staring at the television.

Another half a beer in and there’s another musical type scene. A little hornier than the sex scene itself, somehow. They’re on the floor rolling around each other, mouthing along to the words of the song in the background. It’s cheesy. It’s so fucking cheesy.

And Lance… has _ stars _ in his fucking eyes. 

“God, Patrick Swayze is the love of my life.” Lance mumbles under his breath, hand gripping Keith’s thigh so hard it’s actually starting to hurt. It’s hard to tell, but Keith is starting to wonder if Lance is getting his rocks off to this or something, because he’s way too emotionally invested otherwise. Keith props himself up, looks down at where Lance is staring longingly toward the screen. “I died young because I couldn’t be with him, and a life without him was no life at all.”

“He’s alright.” Keith responds, unimpressed.

“_ Alright _ ?” Lance repeats in a deadpan, turning to Keith like he’s lost his mind. Keith shrugs his shoulders, but he can’t stop smirking no matter how he tries. He knows he’s being difficult and opposing Lance just to get a rise out of him, but can you blame him? The object of his affection is laying _ between his legs _ and _ gripping onto his thigh _, all while talking about another man. “Is a buff dude with a mullet not your type or something? Too much like looking in the mirror?”

“Are buff men with mullets _ exactly _your type?”

“Fuck off.”

“No. I don’t think I will.” Keith sits up and Lance has to move with him, or risk having his face slide off his stomach and down into his crotch. Lance grumbles as he props himself up, eyes darting between Keith and the movie, unwilling to miss a second of the film but also naturally distrusting of Keith when he gets like this. You know, drunk and mischievous. Keith can’t really blame him for being suspicious, he’s_ definitely _ harboring some less than pure intentions.

What, they’ve been watching softcore porn for an hour, is he not _ supposed _ to be horny by now?

“What are you _ up to _?” Lance asks warily, as Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s midsection and pulls him bodily into his lap. He buries his face in Lance’s hair, lets the alcohol do the decision making and slides his hands up under the hem of Lance’s shirt. He exhales shakily as he smooths his calloused palms over the smooth skin of Lance’s stomach, feeling it twitch against the touch. 

At this point, he’s sporting a half chub, but apparently even that much is noticeable because Lance looks back at him and then down between their bodies with an exasperated glare. “I_ just _ wanted you to be far enough from sober to consider watching romance movies with me. I didn’t ask for _ this _.”

“You did so. You’ve been asking for this since we met.” Keith counters, then gives a little rock of his hips upward against his better judgment. A groan tears its way past his throat and he buries his face further into Lance’s hair, panting slightly as he repeats the motion. He grips Lance’s hips, pulls his body down to meet him, to work back against him. “Our first real interaction happened because you couldn’t resist anymore and you grabbed my ass. Come on. Don’t play hard to get now.”

“Someone’s feeling blunt tonight.” Lance says lightly, reaching back behind himself to grip Keith’s hair hard enough to ache at the roots. He pulls Keith backward, until they can look into each other’s eyes. Lance is contemplative, his gaze darkening the longer he meets Keith’s heated stare. Keith is too far gone to even try to compose himself, to appear unaffected. He wears his desire on his sleeve, licks his lips longingly and lets his gaze drift down to Lance’s pretty pink pout instead of his eyes. Fuck. 

But then, the unthinkable happens. Lance reaches down to pry Keith’s hands off of him, plucking the fingers from his skin one by one. And the noise of protest Keith lets out is a pathetic one, he’s willing to admit that. He just can’t lose this pressure after finally having it. 

“Dance with me.” Keith blurts. Desperate.

“_ What _?”

“Like that.” Keith clarifies, nodding toward the screen. It’s no longer a dance scene, but Lance seems to understand what he’s saying anyway if the devilish glint of intrigue in his eyes is anything to go by. And immediately, Keith realizes he made a mistake. That there’s no way he can handle dancing with Lance at all, let alone_ like that _. Just grinding their bodies together, feeling the way their bodies move as one when they’re pressed so tightly into each other.

“You’re serious? You wanna dance with me?” Lance asks, abandoning where he’s trying to pull Keith’s hands away from him, instead picking himself up and turning around. He drops back down into Keith’s lap again, facing him this time. And oh boy, Keith is in way over his head. Lance has that same steely look of determination from when he was cooking today, when he took over the kitchen and effortlessly bossed Keith around, told him exactly what to do and how he wanted it done. Fuck.

“Yeah.” Keith says, like an idiot.

“Do you even know _ how _to dance?” Lance questions him, but Keith immediately forgets the entire English language and can no longer answer, as Lance picks himself up on his knees just enough to start rolling his hips down against Keith’s lap. Back and forth, so much stimulation compared to the next to nothing Keith had been getting from underneath him. 

He bucks up and Lance rewards him by pressing their bodies together even tighter, and now Keith can feel the outline of his cock through those damned grey sweatpants and he distantly remembers he didn’t bother to give Lance a pair of underwear when he handed him the outfit today. Keith’s cock gives a valiant twitch in his own boxers, fully hard and leaking now.

Yep, okay, Keith is going to learn how to dance if it means what he thinks it means right now.

“Nope, I’ll learn as we go. You can Swayze me.” He offers, hands settling on Lance’s hips again in an effort to control the pace of their slow grind. Lance isn’t having it though, immediately wrenching Keith’s hands away and pinning them to the couch cushions on either side of him. Lance shifts his body weight backward and settles on Keith’s knees instead, leaning back and going from too much pressure too fast to nothing at all. Keith’s head _ spins _.

Lance holds eye contact with him, a silent demand in those icy blue irises. When Lance lets go of Keith’s hands, he uses every bit of self-restraint he has not to move. He stays exactly where he is, panting and aching for release, eyes glued to Lance. He’s a good boy. 

He gets rewarded by watching as Lance stretches his body out, arms high above his head. His shirt lifts, reveals a shred of unmapped skin and the dark coarse hair that leads below the dip of his sweatpants, Keith longs to touch it but he keeps himself frozen in place. Smiling, Lance grips the hem of his shirt and tears it over his head, tosses it aside.

Oh god. So much bare skin. Keith doesn’t know where to look first. Where to touch f-

Lance smacks his hands away with a warning glare, it’s all Keith can do to keep from whining aloud.

“Swayze isn’t a verb, but nice try.” 

“Fine, be that way. I’ll Swayze you instead.” Keith growls out, hands darting out so quickly that Lance can’t even begin to try and catch him. He grips Lance’s hips, rolls them so fast that there’s no protesting it. They land on the couch, Lance’s back pressed into the leather, Keith settled overtop of him and between his splayed legs. He grins smugly down at Lance and the other boy just rolls his eyes, but it isn’t a challenge, it’s… approval.

Lance turns his head to the side against the armrest, exposes the long tan line of is neck. Keith doesn’t need to be told twice. He leans in to bury his face into the curve of that pretty neck, like he’s longed to do so many times before. It’s just as soft and warm as he’d imagined, smells so distinctly like Lance’s honey-sweet scent that he nearly drowns in it.

Keith kisses across the skin there, up the column of Lance’s throat, then down the path of his jawline. His lips linger everywhere they’re allowed to, tasting any part of Lance he can reach with an urgency that’s unwavering. He’s wanted this for so long, maybe even longer than he realizes. And now here Lance is, spread out and wanting just the same. Oh fuck, he’s gonna give it to him. He’ll give everything to him.

When Keith finally brings himself to pull back, Lance is trembling beneath him. His eyes are closed and his bottom lip is pulled back between his teeth so hard it looks painful. 

“Hey Lance?” Keith says softly, interrupting himself with little amused giggles before he’s even delivered the genius joke he just thought of. Lance cracks open one eye, peers curiously up at him. 

“What?”

“I’m… having _ the time of my life _ right now.”

“You are… so drunk.” Lance groans, throwing his head back against the leather with a quiet thud. Keith isn’t a fool though, he can feel the fullness in Lance’s heart, the fact that he really wants to laugh along with Keith even if his pride is holding him back. So Keith just smiles twice as hard down at him, wide and too satisfied with himself for that level of bad joke. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“I’m lucky for so many reasons. The luckiest man alive.” Keith muses aloud, reaching up to cup Lance’s cheek and caress it. Lance leans into the touch, long eyelashes fluttering, his eyes coy and teasing even now as they stare up at Keith. It’s too much.

“You’re slightly better at romance when you’re inebriated, who would’ve figured.” 

“Come on, dance with me.” Keith says suddenly, electing to ignore that last comment. He rolls off of Lance and onto his feet, only sways a little bit with the sudden shift of balance. He holds his arms up, rolling his body as best he can, and then slowly lets his hands trail down the length of his chest. He caresses the dips and dives of his pecs, down to his abs, follows the line of his body down between his legs... just like how the dancers in the movie did it. 

If Lance’s amused snort of laughter is anything to go by… it’s not_ just like _ the dancers in the movie.

“I thought that was a euphimism for sex. You actually wanna dance? When you’re this _ bad _ at it?”

But it is enough for Lance to get up off the couch, to rush to stabilize Keith as he stumbles on his feet and narrowly avoids an untimely death via glass coffee table. Lance pulls him in close, wraps his arms around Keith’s torso, until their bodies are slotted together again. 

Almost without realizing, Keith’s aimless clumsy dancing shifts into something with more intent. He thrusts forward, grinding against Lance’s thigh so hard that the jogging pants start to slide down over the curve of his ass. Possessively, Keith’s hands come down and grasp at the newly-exposed flesh, sliding underneath Lance’s low waistband and then even lower, until he’s cupping two perfect round cheeks in his hands. 

Lance is getting squirmy though and for a terrifying moment, Keith worries that he’s trying to pull away again. But he’s only trying to... grab Keith’s phone off the table?

Lance picks it up and puts the passcode in effortlessly, places a hand over Keith’s face and pushes him just far enough that he’s not actively using Lance to get off. He spends a couple seconds scrolling around and Keith is starting to get a little pissy at that point, wondering what’s so important on the damn phone that Lance is making him wait for this. 

But then the music starts filtering through the scratchy outdated speakers and Keith starts smiling.

It’s the same song, from the floor dry-humpy scene in the movie. 

No sooner has Lance tossed the phone back onto the couch than are Keith’s hands on him again, grabbing and groping at his ass underneath his sweats. Lance giggles, swatting his hands away only to take them in his own, holding them up in a mockery of the cha cha from the movie. Keith groans pitifully, as Lance tries to guide them into something that resembles a dance more than sex with clothes on.

He goes along with it though, because he’s whipped and Lance looks like he won the lottery, like it’s been his lifelong fantasy to dance to this song and live out his Dirty Dancing fantasies. Keith tries to live up to expectations, to be good for him. But, not entirely unlike Swayze in the movie, Keith is just too damn handsy for his own good. He’s too horny to resist dragging his hands, lips, teeth, tongue, _ anything _he can… all over Lance’s exposed chest. Lance is getting annoyed with him at this point, he can tell.

He decides to do some expertly thought-out sweet-talking to get back in his good graces.

“Fuck, Lance. You’re so sexy. I love your ass.” Keith groans, voice so low and gravelly that it hardly sounds like he’s speaking words at this point. Hell, maybe he’s slurring them. He doesn’t think he should be this drunk from a handful of beers though, so it must have more to do with the lust clouding his thoughts, both his own and Lance’s secondhand. 

“Dance with me, baby.” Lance says, pinging him on the nose when he tries to crowd close and hump Lance’s leg again. He lets out a noise akin to a growl of frustration, but he squares his shoulders and straightens up, grips Lance’s hands tighter and starts making an honest effort to move them in tight circles around the room. Nevermind that Keith is drunk and spinning in circles is the last thing he wants to do right now. Lance is laughing at him as he sways and stumbles, frequently falling forward into his partner for support. “Come on, at least put_ some _effort into it.”

“I don’t wanna dance.” Keith whines finally, his lips pulled down into a pout as they collide with Lance’s chest for the upteenth time. Their bodies are still gliding across the floor in tune with the music, but Keith’s patience is waning. If anything, now that Keith isn’t concentrating on it and trying to dance well, he’s starting to finally do a little bit better and follow his natural instincts. 

He buries his face into Lance’s neck on purpose this time, nipping and sucking at the soft skin there. He relishes every noise he earns from Lance’s lips. “Wanna fuck you instead.” 

“Y-Yeah?” Lance stutters over his words. For the first time, Lance is the one tripping over his feet and nearly sending them both spiralling to the floor, if Keith hadn’t already been holding him so tightly. So no one falls over, Lance just messes up the near-perfect replica of the dance he’d been showing off. It feels good to humble him, but it feels even better to feel the arousal pool through him, the want so heavy that Keith can practically taste it in the air.

“Mm. It’s all I can think about lately. I just want to touch you. _ All _ the time.” Keith purrs, gently leading them back toward the couch as the song tapers out into silence. Youtube autoplay is a devil though, and it seems that Lance has found them a corner of the internet that’s entirely songs from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. Hell, he probably turned on a playlist. Keith can’t help the fond smile that overtakes his entire face at the thought. Lance totally would.

Keith leans in and brushes his lips across Lance’s in the barest mockery of an actual kiss. It’s still a first for them though, and the way Lance’s emotions skyrocket in response is just a reminder of that fact. 

With that, he plants his hands on Lance’s chest and _ shoves _.

Lance falls back onto the couch and is left sitting there staring up at Keith, eyes widening as he pulls his belt through the loops in one smooth jig. His jeans hit the floor seconds later.

“Keith, come on, let’s not do anything we’ll regret when we’re sober.” Lance tries to reason, now that they’re both in states of partial undress and the reality of the situation is setting in. Keith hears him, but he doesn’t fully absorb it, too focused on tugging his shirt clumsily over his head.

Now that he’s standing there in just his boxers, Lance looks rather overdressed for the occasion.

“_ Regret _?” Keith scoffs at the idea, reaches down to grip his cock through the thin fabric of his boxers and give it a lewd squeeze, like that in itself is evidence enough. Lance still doesn’t look convinced, so Keith clambers into his lap and presses their foreheads together. “Sober me will spend the rest of his life in debt to drunk me if he manages to pull this off. Don’t you worry about him.”

“Pull what off? What exactly are you trying to do here, mister?” Lance asks, but the curl of his lips says that he definitely already knows. Keith just offers a noncommittal shrug in response, pushing Lance back into the couch cushions and starting up that same filthy grind of their hips, now with less layers of clothing to dull the sensation. He moans immediately, thighs tensing on either side of Lance’s hips with the effort to keep himself rocking down against the other man’s lap. 

Keith is transfixed by the sight of their bodies moving together, bulges so obvious in both of their respective layers of clothing that he can practically see the outline of Lance’s flared cockhead through the fabric. He ruts his hips closer to it, lines their cocks up just perfect and grinds down hard, drags his entire shaft and balls across the bulge in Lance’s sweatpants.

The noise Lance makes is pure _ sin _.

“I just… want you.” Keith answers belatedly, swallowing hard as he looks up. “Want you to be mine.”

“Yeah?”

“So badly.” He nods, reaches down between them to cup himself through his boxers and give his cock a few quick strokes. There’s a telling wet patch seeping through the fabric that really leaves it all on display, tells Lance exactly how into this he is. Lance must notice it too, because suddenly he’s a hundred times more involved than he’s been since this all started.

Lance shoves Keith’s hand aside, closes his own around where Keith is hard and leaking, rubs the heel of his hand against the bulge with enough pressure to have Keith’s entire body rolling into it. He’s already so keyed up, and while touching himself he’d been able to go slow to accommodate for that, Lance doesn’t seem to know how, or care to. He goes straight to touching Keith with purpose, like he wants to make him come all over himself in his boxers in record time. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, f-”

“You like that?” Lance asks sweetly, but there’s nothing sweet about the way he grips and gropes at Keith’s cock, growing progressively more handsy until it almost hurts how rough he’s being. Keith arches up into it all the same though because any pressure is better than none. Lance is enjoying himself all too much, something cruel in his smile as he stretches out the waistband of Keith’s boxers only to let it snap back against the head of his cock. Keith yelps, hips bucking all the same. “I can’t _ believe _ you got too horny watching Dirty Dancing to finish the movie. I’m never letting you live this one down. And we’re definitely gonna have to rewatch it another time, while you’re sober. You have to promise to pay attention next time, okay?”

“I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. Just don’t stop touching me.” Keith is definitely begging. He definitely doesn’t care.

Lance slips his fingers inside his waistband properly this time, wraps a hand loosely around Keith’s cock and jerks it off from base to tip with long, slow glides of his hand. It’s such a contrast to what Keith’s been worked up with that it isn’t _ enough _. He needs more. Needs Lance to handle him rougher than this.

“Poor baby, no one’s taken care of you in so long.” Lance repeats his words from earlier, and oh yeah, they definitely sound better in this context. Keith doesn’t even hesitate at the pet name like he normally would, so absolutely invested in the role Lance has taken. “Feels good being taken care of, doesn’t it?”

“Mm. Fuck! Lance, I need-” Keith starts to ask for him to be rougher, but Lance is one step ahead of him as always. His hand speeds up right on time, slick with pre-cum now as it fists at Keith’s cock. Keith gasps and groans, throws his head back against the couch and just lets the noises spill. Lance takes him apart with an obnoxious amount of expertise and Keith’s theory is confirmed, Lance was most definitely a slut in his past life. “Need to tell you something.” 

“Yeah?” Lance coos at him, leaning in to pepper kisses across Keith’s face like it isn’t constantly flinching against the onslaught of pleasure. Keith whimpers as Lance’s thumb slides across the head of his cock then lingers there, clumsy and uncalculated as it rubs all around where Keith is pulsing and leaking, ready to spill any second now. “Can’t it wait?”

“C-Can’t wait. Now. Needs to be now.” Keith gasps, entire body trembling as he tries to ward off his orgasm long enough to say what he needs to. In his lust-fueled drunken haze, there’s only one thing on Keith’s mind and he has to say it now before he thinks better of it later.

“But you’re_ so _close, baby.” Lance teases, giving his cock a few firm strokes just how he needs it now that he’s getting close. Lance’s grip is unforgivingly tight around him, but so slick and warm. Nothing has ever felt better, fuck, Keith could spend forever here being tortured by that skilled hand. He can’t even remember the last time a simple handy got him this worked up.

“Mm, gonna come! I’m gonna-” Keith cries out, hips bucking steadily now, thighs flexing in his efforts to work himself into Lance’s hand. And Lance doesn’t even scold him for it, just lets him use his hand for his own pleasure, take what he wants from it. Fuck. It’s coming, Keith can feel it building, heat so unbearable he feels it through his entire body.

He’s so close, so close he can taste it. But he still hasn’t said it yet and he needs to, doesn’t think he can fully let go until he does. Keith’s eyes roll back, teeth biting into his lip hard enough to draw blood to the surface. He moans, gripping Lance’s hair hard and yanking him in.

Their mouths crash together just as cum starts spilling from Keith’s cock, coating the entire inside of his boxers so thoroughly that he feels soaked between his legs with it. He gasps through the aftershocks, hips slowing but still not stopping, chasing after the very last of the pleasure that he can wrench out of the moment. Lance keeps running a hand over him, slower now.

When Keith pulls back from the kiss, it’s with the realization that he’d been putting no effort at all into properly licking into Lance’s mouth and making it an embrace for the two of them. More or less he’d just been muttering nonsense against Lance’s tempting lips, and now that he’s pulled back and starting to come back down he can understand what he’s saying. “-ove you, Lance. Love you. I love you so fucking _ much _.”

Lance doesn’t say anything, but his grip tightens on Keith’s cock to the point of painful again. Keith is so far into the throes of ecstasy at this point though, that he can’t bring himself to care about a little pain. A small price to pay to have Lance touching him.

He’s so caught up in the overbearing fuzzy, feel-good emotions clouding all of his thoughts… he doesn’t even notice that Lance isn’t on the same page as him.

“Mm. That was so good. Your turn now?” Keith uses all of his remaining energy to lift his head off the back of the couch, looking toward Lance with a stupid lopsided grin. It only fades a little bit when Lance refuses to look back at him, instead keeps staring down at his own cum-covered hand. “What’s wrong?”

An unbearably long moment of silence follows. Lance won’t even look him in the eye.

Keith feels himself sober up slightly, the severity of the situation setting in. He sits up properly underneath Lance, stares worriedly up at him. He reaches down to grab for Lance’s hand, but it darts out of reach just before he can. That can’t be good.

“You meant that? You really love me?” Lance asks, and the tone is familiar but so different at the same time, Keith is left struggling to piece it together in his current state. It doesn’t sound hopeful, that much is immediately noticeable. But Lance’s specific emotions are a mismatched mixture of contradictions and damn it, Keith is running on the bare minimum of energy and common sense right now.

So, he goes with his gut, thinks back on every other time Lance had gotten like this and decides that all he needs is a good healthy dose of reassurance. He doesn’t see himself like Keith sees him, probably doesn’t think he’s worthy of being loved. Keith will remind him and argue against him as many times as it takes for Lance to see his value.

“Yeah, of course I do.” Keith breathes, resisting the urge to try and touch Lance again. “I love y-”

A hand clamps down over Keith’s mouth before he can even finish saying it. Something heavy settles in Keith’s gut, like a tonne of led, and weighs him down to the ground and then somewhere even further than that. He’d never considered for even a moment that Lance would reject him. He’d spent so long being aware of Lance’s feelings, the only uncertainty was his own all this time.

But now he knows! He knows how he feels! And Lance… doesn’t feel the same?

The pain of that realization must show plainly on his face because Lance looks awfully apologetic about it, blue eyes softening into the saddest gaze of all time. It’s not good enough though, not enough to lift the weight Keith is suffocating under.

“Keith.” Lance says, drawing his hand away just enough to skim his fingertips across Keith’s lips. Keith stares helplessly back at him, desperation clawing its way to the surface. He wants to demand answers, to try and convince Lance to change his mind, to beg for a second chance when he was never even fully given his first. “We shouldn’t.”

And that’s… it. Keith waits patiently for Lance to elaborate, but the seconds keep ticking by and he doesn’t seem to have anything to add beyond that very vague, very pathetic statement. Like two words are enough to override all of the love that’s made a home for itself in Keith’s chest as of late.

“Shouldn’t _ what _?”

“Be together.” Lance says finally, comes out with it in the form of a long sigh. He sounds defeated already and it’s clear that there’s no changing his mind, not when he’s so invested in this terrible viewpoint. But Keith has to have hope for it anyway, or at the very least has to understand where Lance is coming from.

“What are you talking about?” He breathes, shifting awkwardly as cum dries tackily over his thighs and softening cock. It’s not an amusing unpleasantry that comes along with something so much better now, it’s just a cruel reminder of what they’d done before things took a dive for the worse. “Why _ not _?”

For a long moment, he really thinks that Lance is just going to leave him without an answer.

That’s definitely what it looks like. Lance is making it very plainly known that he isn’t enjoying any part of this conversation, would gladly let it be over if he could. He’s forcing himself to explain though, but only for Keith’s sake. He would rather be anywhere else.

“It’s not fair to you.” Lance whispers. “You deserve to live your life. I’d only hold you back.”

_ Oh _.

“No you wouldn’t, you’ve made my life so much better.” Keith rushes out with suddenly, his fight returning to him all at once. Now that he knows where the problem is, he can start working to overcome it, to find a way to convince Lance that he’s wrong. They have a chance yet. 

Keith reaches up, grips Lance’s face between both his hands and tries to force him to meet his gaze. He won’t. He looks anywhere in the room but back at Keith, something wet glistening in his eyes in the odd moment where they do skirt past Keith’s. “I know what I want, Lance, and it’s _ you _.”

“No, Keith, you don’t understand. You’re naive and-”

“Lance, listen to m-”

“I don’t feel the same!” Lance shouts sharply, throwing his hands up in the air and then squirming away from Keith entirely. He gets to his feet, moves as if to leave. Keith is faster though, bolts after him before he can think it through. He all but tackles Lance to the floor, not unlike Kosmo might.

They both go down in a tangle of limbs and Keith settles on top, staring frantically down at Lance, hair flying in every which direction. He doesn’t care about any of that. All he cares about is proving Lance wrong, making him _ understand _.

“Liar.” Keith snaps, pressing their faces close enough together that Lance has no choice but to hear what he’s saying. Lance stares wide-eyed back at him, expression shifting from shock into genuine anger.

“What the h-”

“I _ know _ you feel the same.” The interruption isn’t a welcome one, but Keith just keeps talking anyway, tries to get it all out on the table as quickly as he can. “I can feel your emotions, when they’re strong enough. Before you ever touched me or spoke to me, I knew you were here. I just wouldn’t admit it to myself. I’ve known about your feelings for me for weeks.”

“_ What _?!” 

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?! Something like that is sort-of important to know, jackass!” Lance yells at him, but when it looks like he gets angry enough to hit Keith… he just disappears. He disappears out from under Keith, leaving behind only a worn pair of sweatpants. Then he’s walking away, back turned and not looking back.

“I don’t know!” Keith comes back with, scrambling after him. But Lance is angrily strutting through the house, headed toward the stairs. He’s determinedly not interacting with the physical plane now, so even when Keith catches up and tries to grab for him again, his hand just goes right through his torso.

“Fuck you!” Lance starts to stomp up the stairs and Keith stares after him, collapsing onto the banister.

“I’m not good at this stuff, Lance!” He calls after him, pleasantly surprised when Lance pauses halfway up and reluctantly turns back to him. “I told you that from the beginning. I can never tell where I stand with people, they always blindside me and I fuck things up because I’m not good at reacting on the spot. But, with you, it was so much easier. I knew how you felt and I could process that on my own time. I could figure it out, you know?”

“And what do you_ figure _, Keith?” 

“We both feel the same, it only makes sense…” Keith trails off, blushing as he looks away. “I love y-”

“In what world would we make a good couple?”

“We basically already are!” The frustration is boiling over now and Keith feels himself getting personally offended by how determined Lance is to deny everything they have going for them. He’s entirely focused on the negatives, on their differences. And nothing has ever driven Keith so mad as not being able to make him understand, to see things from his perspective. 

Lance is… the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“I can’t.” Lance sighs loudly, throwing his hands up in the air. But underneath all the outward aggression and outrage, he’s only covering up for a very big part of himself that wants nothing more than to be held and proven wrong. Keith knows this, he can feel it in his own chest, so why does Lance always insist on being so damn difficult when he’s hurting?!

Lance walks back down the steps hesitantly, pauses a couple above where Keith is standing. “I can’t do this to you. I can’t limit your options like that. I won’t do it. You can’t make me do it.”

“You’re not, I’m choosing this for myself.”

“Keith, I can’t.” Lance repeats, like that’s the only thing he’s capable of saying anymore. Keith stares up at him, all of his emotions bleeding into his expression. “I’m serious. It isn’t happening.”

“Why not?!”

“I’m not like you!” When Lance yells back at him, angry and sharp, so pained that it strikes Keith like a punch to the gut… the entire house trembles. Like a strong gust of wind has hit it and blown through all of the cracks in the wood, threatening to uproot the whole building. The walls creak and the chandelier swings overhead and the floors tremble hard enough that Keith struggles to stay upright even when he’s gripping the stair banister.

But, he’s never been one for knowing when to back down.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“I’m not…” Lance trails off, curls in on himself slightly. Tears are streaking his cheeks now, full heavy trails of water left in their wake. Keith feels terrible about pushing him to his breaking point like this, but he can’t help it. He can’t just let this go. It means too much to him. “I’m not a real person anymore, okay! I know you want me to be, and it was fun pretending for a while, but I’m not!”

“You’re real, Lance.” Keith whispers, the fact that he even has to say it evoking a terrible gut reaction in him. It feels wrong, to even imply the possibility that Lance could not be real. He’s real, he was real when his heart was beating and he’s just as real now. He’s had a very real impact on the world around him, on Keith’s world. There’s no arguing this. “God, you’re the realest person I know.”

“I’ll never be a big enough part of your life to justify what you’re giving up for me. It’s just not equal, I can never be what you’ll be to me.” Lance continues, swiping his tears away with his hands. He looks so small, standing there naked and sobbing all over himself. Keith longs to walk up the last few steps between them, to comfort him through it. “You can’t even introduce me to your friends, Keith.”

“I could!” Keith argues, but Lance just gives him a withering look and he backtracks. He stumbles back a step, scrubs a hand through his hair and then slams it back down against the banister. He grips on so hard his knuckles turn white, and it isn’t for physical support as much as its for emotional. He feels like he could collapse in on himself. “I’m going to, eventually.”

“I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be this involved with me.”

“That’s not your call to make.” Keith shakes his head. “Before I met you I spent almost all my time alone at home, this is an improvement. Now I can be alone at home _ with company _.”

“I think we should stop seeing each other.” Lance says it ever so slowly, like he’s testing the syllables out on his tongue rather than uttering the most hurtful string of words together that Keith has ever had said to him. He’s been dumped before, it’s never felt like this. It’s never swept the rug out from under him, ended before coming anywhere close to meeting its potential… died so young. 

It’s not fair. God, how he wants to scream it. He _ wants _ to be mad. He doesn’t give a fucking shit about Lance’s calm approach toward it, how he’d chosen to forgive and forget. Keith would never forget what the world lost when that idiot carelessly took Lance’s life, and he’ll certainly never forgive.

“You mean, romantically?”

“At all.” Lance responds shortly, but he’s not crying anymore. He’s all but composed himself outwardly, which only works to drive Keith even madder because it’s so very pointless. There’s no need for Lance to put up an act around him now. Keith can see right through it and Lance knows that he can now, but still he goes on acting like he can fool him for even a moment.

He knows that Lance is hurting just as badly as he is right now.

“You literally live here, unless you plan on moving into the light or whatever, where are you gonna go?”

“I can make myself pretty scarce.” Lance mumbles, looking away. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

“No.”

“Keith, it’s for the best. Please don’t be upset.” Lance steps down another step, reaches his hand out toward Keith’s shoulder, no doubt to reassure him. But Keith flinches away just before his fingertips graze his bare skin, eyes blown wide and breath coming in panicked short little breaths. He doesn’t want to live alone anymore! He doesn’t want to be here in this stupid house if it isn’t with Lance.

“Obviously I’m upset!” Keith shouts, voice breaking on the last word. And then it’s all downhill from there, as he chokes around a sob and feels his face crumble. He turns around before the first tear falls, but there’s nothing left to the imagination. Lance knows what’s happening. He’s standing right there, he can probably hear him.

Still, he makes no effort to pursue Keith, to go back on his word and hold him close.

Keith is left to console himself, at least back to a point where he can shakily form a response. He folds his arms tightly over his chest, gently pushes Kosmo away when he worriedly tries to nose at his leg. He stares critically at the floor as he speaks up, but he knows Lance is listening. He was always listening, no matter where he went. “You’ve spent all this time trying to get me to believe in you and give you my attention, and now you suddenly don’t want it anymore? The second I want the same thing?”

“I know it’s not fair.” Lance says gently, but it’s a hollow apology. It fixes nothing. It’s just a dismissal of everything, like it’s something beyond their control that they can’t possibly hope to fix. But it’s not like that, there’s nothing standing between them but themselves. “Maybe in another life, we could have-”

“No.” Keith cuts him off, harshly. “There is no other life. There’s right here, right now. Somehow, against all odds, we were lucky enough to meet. We _ have _ our chance and you’re throwing it away.”

“I’m dead!” Lance wails, begging Keith to hear him. Keith ignores it, so vehemently that his ears ring, as the house shakes again with overflowing emotions. Lance is still going off, shouting and stomping around on the stairs, but Keith won’t even look at him. “Haven’t you ever watched Pet Sematary or something? Dead things should _ stay _dead. It’s not good to mess with the balance. I am a rotting corpse in the ground somewhere, Keith! You can’t fucking love me! All I’m capable of bringing to your life is misery!”

“That’s what you’re bringing right now, yeah.” Keith scoffs, shaking his head. “Up until now you brought some of the best times of my life. Forgive me for confusing that with love, clearly you know better than I do.”

“Don’t_ say _ that.” Lance groans, like it pains him to hear it. Good. 

“What do you want me to say? I told you how I feel. It’s all out on the fucking table now. At least I had the decency to give you that much.” Keith whips around to face him, glaring something fierce where Lance is staring back at him. Lance doesn’t look angry anymore, he just looks defeated. It’d been clear from the start that he had no hopes of fixing this. He’d made up his mind. He can’t.

He won’t.

Keith grits his teeth together, whirls around and starts toward the door. He doesn’t want to stay here, whether Lance is making himself scarce or not. He can’t be around him, he can’t be in this house and have it be empty, he can’t exist in a place so much bigger than he is all alone. “Whatever.”

“Keith.” Lance calls after him, concern apparent and only growing the closer Keith stomps to the front door. Keith ignores him, pulls on his boots and reaches for his jacket. “Where are you _ going _?!”

“Out.” He answers. Flat, disinterested, void of emotion. “Doing alive people things.”

“You’re drunk.” Lance reminds him, like that’ll somehow change anything. Keith ignores him, reaches for his keys and barely snatches them in time before Lance is trying to grab for them. Keith pulls them into his hold, curls his hand into a tight fist around them. Lance stares at him in horror. “Keith!”

“What?”

“You’re really lucky to be alive, don’t take that for granted by making risky decisions.” Lance tells him, but it isn’t advice as much as it’s a plea. Lance is pleading with him and he’s desperate about it, pouring his entire heart into it. He even reaches out and touches him, presses a hand gently to Keith’s cheek and holds it there. “I know you’re mad at me, but if you care about me as much as you say you do, then you’ll stay here tonight. Don’t drive home drunk.”

“Who said I was going home?” Keith counters, whipping away from Lance before he finds himself pulled under by the temptation to please him again. It doesn’t really matter, in the long run. He could give his all or nothing to Lance and if he’s hellbent on not seeing a future for them, then he never will. Anything Keith does at this point is just gasoline to the fire.

He storms out of the house and Kosmo follows uncertainly behind him, hops up into the truck when Keith orders him to. Keith slides into the driver’s seat, blinking a few times to orient himself. Lance follows after him and Keith slams the door of the truck shut in his face, but it doesn’t matter. He just phases right through it, sits himself down in the middle seat of the truck like he owns it.

“Don’t do this.” Lance begs him, as he slides the key into the ignition and the truck splutters to life. He can feel the panic rising in the back of his throat, recognizes that it’s Lance’s and that it’s all for him, a worry so succinct that it couldn’t be for anything other than a loved one. The thought tastes bitter and Keith chases it down by shifting the truck into reverse.

“Stop telling me what I should and shouldn’t do.” Keith says, tone even. “You either get an important place in my life or you don’t. You made your choice. Didn’t you?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, just begging Lance to challenge him on it. 

“You’re such an asshole when you want to be!” Lance shouts at him, leaning in and getting all up in his face, and even though they’re parked in the driveway Keith can see the lights inside the house flickering in every window he left them on. The tie between the house and Lance has never been so clearly displayed, and that’s exactly why Keith can’t stay here. He can’t. It hurts too much.

He starts to back the truck out of the driveway, stretches his arm across the back of the seat and glances through the back window to watch behind himself as he backs up. He’s driven drunk before, drunker than this by far, but he was a lot younger then. Nothing to lose, nothing to give the world. 

“Fine. Go.” Lance is sitting next to him silently fuming, eyes so blue they look like sapphires, cut sharp and unnatural. “Take for granted the one thing I would give _ anything _ to have back. Rub it in my face some more, why don’t you?”

Keith ignores Lance. He ignores his own pain. He ignores the hurt and betrayal Lance is broadcasting onto him so loudly it’s all that’s left inside his head. He ignores the disgust he feels with himself.

He just goes. He slams his foot into the pedal and backs out onto the road too fast, too recklessly. 

The very second he’s over the property line, Lance fizzles out and disappears beside him. Keith nearly collapses over the steering wheel in relief, finally alone with just his own emotions. But it’s a double-edged sword because his emotions aren’t any more welcoming, they’re still volatile and angry and bitter. He feels terrible in all the worst ways. 

He worries about Lance. Wonders if it hurt him to touch the border of the property. He didn’t mean to hurt him, he never wanted to hurt him, he just… doesn’t know how to do anything else. 

He’s not _ good _at this stuff.

\--

An hour later and he’s very far from home, his own and Shiro’s. He’s in the city over, a little university town bustling with young people on a Thursday night. It’s busy and the roads are crowded and even though he’s starting to sober up more, he really shouldn’t be driving while intoxicated at all. He’s an idiot, the biggest irresponsible idiot. There’s not even any excuse, he’s just-

He reaches his destination soon enough anyway, shuts his truck off and stumbles up the stairs to the second floor apartment he’s only been to a handful of times before. He knocks loudly, insistently, even though it’s creeping up on 3am and it’s a terribly rude time to do so.

There’s cursing from the other side of the door and Keith tries to smile, but he can’t bring himself to.

The door flings open and he’s face-to-face with the closest looking thing to Alf that he’s ever seen in real life, a wild mane of dark orange hair sticking up in every direction. Pidge looks furious. She also doesn’t look at all, considering she has her glasses off still and is slowly wiping them off on her shirt.

Keith makes a mental note to remind her that answering the door in the middle of the night while blind is a terribly irresponsible thing to do, not that he’s in any position to talk.

“Keith?” Pidge asks in disbelief, slamming her glasses back onto her face so fast that she nearly pokes herself in the eye. She blinks a few times, like she really and truly can’t believe what she’s looking at, and then Kosmo barrels past her into the tiny apartment where dogs definitely aren’t permitted. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night? Are you okay?”

“I-” Keith starts to say, but nothing comes out. He opens his mouth and closes it a few times. He blinks rapidly, chasing back tears. His bottom lip trembles, wavering weakly under the pressure of worlds weighing him down. He opens his mouth again, and this time a pathetic choked noise claws its way out.

He stumbles forward, collapses into Pidge and nearly knocks her over in the process.

“Are you drunk?”

“_ Pidge _.” Keith whimpers quietly, as he finally allows himself to break down fully. He sobs into the shoulder of her oversized hoodie, cries so hard that his legs threaten to give out beneath him. She doesn’t say anything at first, just stands in the doorway and holds him, settling an uncertain hand on his back and rubbing in equally uncertain soothing circles.

She’s not good at this stuff either, but she’s trying her best for him.

“I knew you were internalizing shit, ugh. You’ve been way too happy lately.” Pidge says eventually, once Keith has calmed down enough to stand on his own, to see through the tears in his eyes. She steps aside, grabs his wrist and leads him into the apartment. “Get in here.”

“It’s not about him. The married guy.” Keith says quickly, needs her to know that. “It’s someone else.”

She just nods knowingly, walks over to the stove and puts a kettle on to boil. Keith invites himself to sit down in a bean bag chair and Kosmo immediately wanders over to sprawl out on top of him, licking at the tears streaking his face. He buries his face into the dog’s fur, focuses on trying to even out his breathing. 

“Do I know him?”

“Sort-of.” Keith mumbles, muffled by dog hair as the words are. He doesn’t want to entertain this train of though, doesn’t want Pidge to start asking too many questions and reach her own conclusions. The specifics don’t matter, even if she knew every last detail there’d be no changing anything. He’s been dealt the hand he’s been dealt. He’s stuck with it now.

“Okay, I won’t pry.” Pidge relents, sitting down on the floor next to him. “Anything I can do to make it better? Other than force-feeding you ice cream? Should I-”

“I swear, if you suggest calling Shiro.” 

“Forget I said anything.” Pidge says quickly, holding her hands up in front of herself in submission. He relaxes slightly at that, goes back to clinging to Kosmo for dear life. He really doesn’t want Shiro getting involved in this, he’d make it a whole thing. “I’m really just at a loss for what to do here. Pretty sure this is the first time you’ve ever expressed human emotions or weakness in front of me. And we’ve known each other like, eight years.” 

“Shut-up.” 

“What are we feeling?” Pidge continues easily, clearly trying to be casual despite how shaken she must be. Keith tries to be strong for her, doesn’t want to worry her unnecessarily either. He doesn’t want to have to turn to anyone for support, he’s never needed to before. “Video games? Drinking games? You wanna like, slash his tires or some shit?”

Keith debates her offers for a long moment, tries to think of any one thing that he’d possibly feel up to doing right now. Not much, if he’s being honest. He definitely doesn’t want to do something that involves leaving the apartment. They could watch a movie, but he’s not sure what. Distantly, he remembers the easiness of having Lance’s predetermined movie watch list to fall back on.

An idea strikes him.

“What’s that one movie with Patrick Swayze? And the pottery? And the… _ ghost _?” Keith asks slowly, hesitating before he continues in an even quieter voice. “I wanna watch that.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Pidge is staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers, disbelief written all over her face, and it’s the slightest bit annoying. Keith shifts awkwardly under her gaze, wondering if maybe he got the movie confused with something else or something. Finally, Pidge relents the slightest bit, but she still looks visibly disbelieving. “You’re not kidding?”

“No.”

“God, this is gross. You wanna watch a sappy romantic movie and _ cry _? This guy really did a number on you.” Pidge sighs, but she goes about setting up the tv anyway. 

Keith wants to express how thankful he is for her, but he doesn’t know where to start. So he justs sits there in silence, lets her wrap a blanket around his shoulders and shove an herbal tea at him like that’ll somehow be enough to fix all of his problems. He drinks it anyway.

\--

Keith is stretched out across Pidge’s couch with Kosmo on top of him, staring up at the ceiling and getting lost in his thoughts again. He has four different dirty mugs piled around him, all from various blends of herbal tea. He hasn’t really moved from her couch since he arrived, aside from for the necessities. He spends all of his time here, watching movies. 

Last night, he rewatched Dirty Dancing and cried so hard that Pidge’s neighbor filed a complaint. 

So really, he should have seen it coming when Pidge walks up to him that morning and decides it’s time to stage an intervention. She drops a pile of clean clothes on him, the biggest things she owns for him to continue borrowing. He’s ready to thank her, but something about her narrow-eyed gaze doesn’t say she’s here the sake of being kind.

“It’s been four days, I think it’s time we take you back home and see how things are faring there. If I have to tell you we’re going to Wal-mart to trick you into getting in the car, I’ll do it.” She deadpans.

“I don’t want t-”

“Shiro won’t stop calling me, Keith. He’s worried sick about you.” Pidge interrupts him with a long, deep sigh. She sits on the armrest of the couch by his head, stares down at him, very clearly puzzled by his behavior even still. “I’m worried about you. I’ve never seen you like this. I took the day off work today because I wasn’t sure if I should leave you alone.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just scared, Keith.” Pidge tells him, but her voice is so genuine it’s hard to recognize it. She never gets serious like this, she has only done it a handful of times since they met. Pidge’s whole thing is not taking the world too seriously. “You’re pretty… upset. I don’t know how to help you.”

“Can we go to Shiro’s instead?”

“You’d rather go back home to your overbearing, worried older brother than to the peace and quiet of your own home?” Pidge laughs at first like he’s being sarcastic, but when Keith doesn’t budge and just buries himself further into the blankets, she goes silent. The gears in her mind are clearly turning, trying to figure out what happened. Keith knows where her mind is going. What else would keep Keith from his lovely new home now that it’s nearly finished?

He did more or less admit to it before. “Keith, what happened? Did… did it hurt you?”

“I can’t talk about it.” Keith says stubbornly, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Not yet.”

“I have the whole day off, I’m not just gonna drop you and run. I’ll stay with you.” Pidge suggests, pushing his legs aside to sit down on the couch next to him. She grabs his hand and squeezes it. “Look, whatever happened, there are options. I’ve done a lot of research lately after spending more time in your house and I know there’s a presence there. There are ways to… get rid of it. If the smudging didn’t work.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, then we won’t.” Pidge gets to her feet, hesitates for a second before turning back to him. She seems nervous about whatever she’s about to say. “Let’s just go back to the house and spend a couple hours decorating. Are you comfortable with that? Is that… safe?”

“It’s not like_ that _. I’m not being haunted.” 

“But the house is? There’s a presence there?”

“I don’t. Want. To talk about it.” Keith deadpans, feeling the sting behind his eyes. Pidge doesn’t press him on the issue, just gives a frustrated sigh and gathers up the dirty mugs. She carries them back to the kitchen and Kosmo lifts his head to watch her go, but otherwise stays seated on top of Keith.

\--

The house looks exactly the same as he left it, somehow. 

It feels like it should look different, should have reverted back to the daunting and decrepit building that it’d been when he first bought it. But it just looks like the cozy home he’s been building it up to be, the rocking chair on the front porch moving slightly with the breeze, the sun streaking down through the trees lining the driveway. It’s his _ home _, the entire place has been built by him and tailored to him. 

Yet he feels like a guest in a stranger’s dwelling when he walks through the front door, greeted by the most unsettling crawling sensation of being unwelcome that he’s ever felt in his entire life. And Keith knows what it means to be unwelcome, to be unwanted in any given space. He’s grown accustomed to it, can shrug it off and continue about his day usually. But this is… bone-crawling. 

He can’t describe it, but he immediately wants to turn around and run from his own home.

“It’s looking pretty sick. Now you just gotta move all this stuff to the right rooms.” Pidge points out in a conversational way, weaving around the furniture littered through the living room and taking a glance into the kitchen. Keith follows her lead, but every part of him still desperately wants to get out of there. 

“Yeah.”

“This is my first day off in a week, I can’t believe I offered to help you decorate.” She comments, helping herself to a glass of water. She glances into his fridge dismissively, eyes widening when she sees all the groceries he’d bought recently. She turns to the stove, sees the meal that Lance had meticulously cooked for him abandoned, over half of it gone to waste. “Since when do you cook?”

“I don’t know.” Keith offers, which isn’t really an answer but she doesn’t push it. She just turns back to him, hops up to sit on the counter and swing her legs below herself.

“So, where do we start?”

“I finished the last of the painting last night. We’re good to start hauling furniture around.”

“Don’t you think Shiro would be a better fit for that task?”

“It’s hard to decorate any of the rooms before the staple pieces are inside.” 

“Well, let’s take an inventory of what you have and see what else we need.” Pidge suggests, trying so damn hard to find something that would earn an approval from him. Keith sighs in defeat, knows that eventually he’ll have to cave and admit that he’s stuck here at least for a few hours. He wishes he could yell at Lance, tell him to tone down the ominous bitterness radiating from every wall in the house.

A couple hours later and Pidge has given him a hammer, a knowing glint in her eyes like she just knows that he can’t concentrate on conversation right now. So Keith goes about hanging up the few paintings that he owns, installing some shelves in the bedrooms, little things like that that he’s been putting off.

“How do you even choose where to hang paintings on a wall?” Keith mutters, staring at the long stretch of purple wall in the bathroom. 

Lance was right, of course he was, and the room felt suffocatingly small with the dark paint and lack of natural lighting. So Keith is forced to take his advice and hang something bright up. He wonders if Lance is watching him, if he approves of where he’s choosing to hang it. 

“You need plants.” Pidge informs him, poking her head into the room. Keith casts her a skeptical look and she immediately relents, looking down at the notebook in her hands and jotting down an addition to what’s already written there. “Succulents, so you don’t kill them. You don’t have a nurturing bone in your body, I’m not going to line poor plants up to the slaughter if I can help it.”

“I’ve kept Kosmo alive.” Keith argues with a pout, pulling the hammer back only to slam it forward against the nail head. Pidge waits until he’s finished and the room is quiet again to respond.

“Only because Kosmo would try to eat everything else in the house if he didn’t have his kibble on time every night. Trust me, I remember what happened to Shiro’s last sofa.”

“It’s Shiro’s fault for trying to feed him the wrong brand of kibble.” 

“Where is Kosmo anyway? I haven’t seen him since we arrived.” Pidge says it offhandedly, like the realization had just hit her and she couldn’t help but voice it aloud. She hardly sounds concerned about it, but she doesn’t know Keith’s dog like he does. Immediately, Keith abandons the hammer on the side of the sink, steps out into the hallway and looks both ways. 

“Kosmo! Come here, buddy!” He calls, panic beginning to grow as he heads toward the first floor. There’s no way he could have gotten back outside, so he has to be in the house somewhere. Keith flies down the stairs, frowns when he sees the couch is void of any giant balls of fluff. “Kosmo!”

Pidge walks slowly down the stairs, watching as Keith darts around the first floor. 

“I’ll check all the bedrooms upstairs, maybe he got shut into one by accident.” She says, turning around and running back up. Keith keeps looking on the first floor, walks around to the back door and breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that its still locked. He turns to leave the mud room, filled with coats and boots that are yet to be put away properly. 

But then he freezes when he sees Kosmo snuggled into the pile of winterwear.

“Buddy, what are you doing?” Keith laughs, walking over to kneel next to him. He’s whimpering slightly, but it doesn’t sound pained as much as it sounds like he’s begging for something. Keith jumps to his feet, gestures toward the back door. Kosmo looks up at him, wags his tail like he’s excited to go outside, but when Keith heads for the back door Kosmo doesn’t even follow him. 

And it’s then that Keith realizes where exactly Kosmo is. He’s curled up beside the door to the basement, pressed as closely as he can get to it. He stands up, pushing his nose against the door, pawing at it in an effort to get inside. He looks hopefully back to Keith, tail wagging excitedly. He even lets out a couple yips, hopping around in place. Keith feels his heart sink in realization.

He steps closer, gently eases Kosmo out of the way with his foot and opens the door a crack. He slips inside without Kosmo, immediately startled by the darkness. He reaches for the light, flicks it on and slowly starts down the rickety wooden stairs. He doesn’t make it all the way down, can’t keep fighting against the sensation of being an intruder. 

Lance is broadcasting some damn strong emotions down here. Volatile and unpredictable, vicious almost and growing worse the further Keith descends the stairs. He doesn’t have to speak to tell Keith to fuck off, that he isn’t wanted here. Keith comes to a stop halfway down the stairs, grips the railing tight and tries to speak around the suffocating emotions in his throat.

Lance is just so… sad. It’s as bad as the first day he’d laid eyes on him, maybe even worse than that. It’s a hollowness unlike any other, a broken bottomless pit of loathing and bitterness. But none of it is really directed at Keith, aside from the panicked pleas to stay away. All of Lance’s anger is being directed inward, like all of this is somehow his fault. 

And Keith can’t have that. He can’t leave, no matter how badly Lance wants him to.

“You don’t have to hide out in the basement, I know it gives you the creeps.” Keith says into the open air, waits on a response that he knows isn’t coming. The seconds turn into minutes and it’s the most painful thing in the world to feel the contradicting emotions Lance is feeling. Because he wants to reach out, desperately so. He still feels that same love and longing in his chest, exactly like Keith does. But it’s tainted, wrong, clouded with doubt and guilt. 

Keith doesn’t know how to convince him that it’s okay to want this, that he deserves to be happy whether he’s alive or not. He’s not taking anything away from Keith, he’d only be giving. He doesn’t understand why Lance can’t see that. 

“Come on, Lance, you’re really gonna pretend I don’t exist? That _ you _don’t exist?” Keith asks the emptiness of the basement. He feels anger bubbling up to the surface, the longer Lance lets him stand there making an idiot out of himself. He snarls. “Fuck you then! Stay down here! See if I care!”

The entire house seems to creak, the stairs underneath Keith feeling like they could collapse at any second now. The anger and pain battering around inside the basement walls grows tenfold, until Keith is sure that it’s seeping out into the rest of the house too. He doesn’t care.

Keith turns around and stomps back up the stairs, wrenching the door open and slamming it shut behind him hard enough to shake the whole wall. He’s furious. He’s never been so angry in his life. He’s-

He’s staring at Pidge, who’s standing in front of him, arms crossed over her chest and foot tapping.

Keith deflates.

“What were you doing down there?” She asks slowly, rolling the syllables off her tongue. Keith knows that she heard, he hadn’t exactly been quiet about it. “Let me guess, you don’t wanna talk about it?”

“Pidge.” Keith breathes the name under his breath, shoulders slumping in defeat. He knows that she won’t press it any further if he doesn’t want her to, but he also knows that she’s suspicious at this point and knows at least some of what’s going on. She could never understand the full picture, but she knows enough to start casting judgments on Lance. She knows enough to not let it go.

Keith shoves past her and Kosmo follows behind him worriedly, as he stomps his way through the house and back upstairs. Pidge follows closely behind him.

“Look, I know you hate it when I bring up your house being haunted, so I’m not gonna do that.” She tells him, like she’s doing some great service worthy of praise. Keith grunts indifferently at her. “But this place feels weird today! I don’t know if it’s just your depression like seeping through the walls and manifesting in a tangible dark cloud over everyone’s heads, but it’s not a fun atmosphere.”

“Sorry.” Keith snaps, picking up his hammer again. “I’ll try to keep my depression from seeping out.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Pidge shouts at him, steps closer to snatch the tool out of his grip. With nothing to distract himself, Keith is forced to turn and look at Pidge. She’s glaring at him, eyes narrowed with something fierce burning behind them. “It’s just really tense, right? Do you feel that?”

“I guess so, but I’m pretty tense anyway so.”

“Keith, listen to me. This is more serious than you think it is. I know you want to dismiss it all, but you could be in danger. I don’t want that for you.” Pidge looks like she might cry, though Keith is pretty sure she isn’t capable. He sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat already. He knows he’ll give her anything she asks for, just to get her to stop looking at him_ like that _. “Do you mind if I try to communicate?”

“Go for it, Pidge. Good fucking luck, he’s not feeling very talkative today.” Keith laughs humorlessly, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. He shoves past her, doesn’t want her to see when tears start spilling from his eyes. He just heads right back down the stairs, making a beeline for the backdoor. He doesn’t want to be here anymore, he doesn’t want to think about any of this. 

He doesn’t come back inside for a long time.

Hours. At least two of them, maybe three. 

He walks through the woods on his property, Kosmo eagerly running along beside him. It isn’t much, but it takes his mind off of things a little bit, for a while. 

He half expects Pidge’s car to be gone from the drive when he walks back out of the woods, but it’s still sitting there, obnoxious as always. He drags his feet as he walks into the house, finds her sitting on the couch with all of her ghosthunting gear littered around the room. Recorders, cameras, voodoo nonsense for rituals, that same Ouija board. Pidge looks… defeated.

She barely even glances up at him as he walks over and sits on the arm of the couch.

“Any luck?”

“Nothing.” Pidge grits out, like it hurts her to admit. “I got nothing.”

“Guess they don’t like you.” Keith slouches back against the cushions, relaxes there for a second and closes his eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Or at all. Lance would have his head. You know, if Lance was still a thing that was a part of his life.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it, just tell me there’s nothing here and I’m dumb for believing in ghosts like you always do.” Pidge pouts loudly, gaze glued to her phone. Keith looks over at her with a slight frown, decides to throw her a bone. Seeing her look so defeated isn’t any fun for either of them.

“I mean, yeah.” Keith looks down, picks at his nails while he thinks on how to phrase what it is he wants to say. “But on the off-chance there _ were _ ghosts, they’d probably be giant assholes. Capable of reaching out but choosing not to instead. They’re probably watching nearby and laughing at you for even trying to reach out. Us humans are probably the only entertainment they get once they kick the bucket, it’s cheap fun to mess with us.”

“You think?”

“Definitely.” Keith says, coldly. He knows Lance is listening. He always is, even when he’s trying to distance himself, Keith is sure it’s impossible to resist the temptation. After all, what else does he have to do in this stupid old house? He’s been trapped here for years, he’s done everything he possibly could within these walls. 

Keith raises his voice, just in case Lance isn’t already listening. “Total pricks. The whole lot of ‘em. Just out to string us along and play with our emotions.”

Keith feels Lance’s anger, like the lashing of a kraken tearing a boat apart, the entire house trembles under the weight of it like it could fall in on itself. Pidge’s eyes go wide and she grips onto the couch, but Keith quickly reassures her that it’s normal. Just the wind.

“You’re extra weird today.” Pidge says, giving him a strange lingering look. But she doesn’t say whatever’s on her mind so clearly, just gets to her feet and digs her keys out of her back pocket. She reaches out, jingling them in Keith’s face. “You wanna get outta here? Go get something to eat?”

“Sure, we could probably grab burgers or-” Keith gets up, but the sound of glass shattering upstairs has them both pausing. Immediately, Keith assumes Kosmo, but the dog is still laying by his feet, exhausted after running around outside for so long. Pidge and Keith exchange a wordless look, and then start climbing the stairs together.

It’s in Keith’s bedroom. The small flat screen he’d yet to even set up in the new place. The entire screen is shattered, like someone attempted to put a fist through it. 

Keith stares at it until his eyes go cross-eyed. Disbelieving.

He can still feel Lance’s emotions, cresting and crashing like oncoming waves, they wash over him and slide down the length of his spine in the form of a shiver. It reminds him of those cheesy horror movies he’d watched with Lance. This is probably what a real haunting feels like. 

“What the hell?” Pidge looks around the room, for any possible explanation. Keith knows what it looks like, knows what it actually is is just the same. Whatever conclusion Pidge comes to won’t even be a far stretch from reality. “I swear, if you tell me _ this _was faulty wiring after we’ve had an electrician in here ten times over? I’m going to riot. You’re being fucking haunted, Keith!”

“I’ll grab a broom.” Keith says impassively, turning to leave the room just like that. Pidge grabs his arm though, yanks him back and then practically cuddles into him. Keith furrows his eyebrows together deeply in confusion as he looks down at her. “What?”

“Can we clean this when we get back?” Pidge whispers, like that’ll be enough to keep a ghost from overhearing them. Keith squints at her. “It feels_ angry _, Keith.”

It hadn’t occurred to him that Pidge might be able to feel Lance’s presence as well. Especially when he’s feeling this intensely, it’d be hard not to notice it. Keith might even be the slightest bit dulled to it, given how used to it all he’s become. But Pidge, she looks like she’s terrified.

“It’s not_ real _, it can’t feel emotions.” Keith laughs coldly, looking around the empty room as if Lance will jump at the chance to challenge him. When nothing happens other than the surge of painful feelings in response, he grabs Pidge’s sleeve and directs her to the door. He doesn’t want to be here for whatever mess he’s just caused inside Lance. “Let’s go.”

\--

Later that night, Pidge invites him to come back and stay at her place as long as he needs to. There’s a new sense of understanding in her eyes as she says it, something kind in the way her hand lingers on his arm. She’s trying to comfort him. Like she completely understands now.

But she doesn’t know the half of it. This goes so far beyond being haunted and being scared to go home. 

So he rejects her offer, isn’t sure that he can handle sitting there and listening to her talk about solutions to his problem all night. None of it will help. And despite all that’s going on right now, he hates hearing her talk about Lance like he’s a pest to be exterminated. He’s a fucking person! Why does nobody else see that! He’s just as human as they are.

Pidge seems very reluctant to let him go, even mentions getting Shiro to come by later and check up on him, but he makes her promise on her life not to. The last thing he needs right now is Shiro going into overprotective big brother mode. He’d never be allowed back into his house again, Shiro would force him to stay with him and Adam for safety reasons.

Even though he doesn’t really want to, Keith finds himself going back home alone that night, because he wants the other options even less. At least here he’s alone with his thoughts, more or less, and he doesn’t have people who don’t understand trying to pry into his life and make assumptions.

“I’m home! Just in case you wanna heads up so you can rush down to the basement before we have to see each other again. Coward.” Keith says as he steps inside. Kosmo isn’t far behind him. 

He addresses the whole of the house with a shout. “I’m not going anywhere, by the way. This is my house. You can’t ward me away from it any longer. I live here and I get to take up space just as much as I do. More than you do, if I’m going by_ your _ logic. Fuck off with the petty whining, you know I can feel your emotions, so get over yourself.”

There’s no response and Keith rolls his eyes, stalking off to the kitchen. He can still feel Lance’s emotions now, but they’re much quieter and tamer than before. Subdued in a way they’ve never been. Keith wonders if he’s further away, outside somewhere. Or if he’s asleep. Lance had said he could sleep, just that it was usually a worse alternative to staying awake.

Keith grabs a beer out of the fridge, walks over to sit down on the couch and curl up there. He doesn’t even have a blanket, but he can’t bring himself to care. He sits there shirtless and shivering, drinking the can of beer down like it’s a lifeline.

He’s not sure how much more of this he can take. He can feel Lance’s pain and it calls out to something deeper inside of himself, fills him with a longing to comfort and hold him. Keith has never wanted so badly to be there for another person, to support them through everything. And the sick joke is that he isn’t allowed to? That Lance doesn’t want him?

But Lance does want him, and that’s even more painful. It’s worse because all of their ducks aligned, everything somehow worked out for them, and it still isn’t enough to make it work. They were so fucking close to something great and now it’s nothing. Keith is right back where he started, but it’s worse than it was back then.

Now he’s alone with the distinct knowledge of what it’s like _ not _to be.

And Lance’s fucking emotions smashing around inside his head like a bull in a China shop is the very plainest of reminders. He can’t eat, breathe, drink, or think. He’s reduced to laying there on the couch and just taking the constant battering against his mind, until he feels like he might go insane if he can’t find a way to comfort Lance. It hurts. Lance is hurting so badly that Keith can feel the pain gnawing away at him in his own chest.

So really, can anyone blame him for resorting to age-old coping mechanisms? 

Is it really a surprise when one beer turns into two turns into three turns into four turns into-

“Asshole.” Keith is down in the basement, drunkenly stumbling around in search of Lance. He’s lost count of how many drinks he’s had, but he’s pretty sure he’s even drunker than the night that everything fell apart for him. His vision swims hard enough that he won’t even try to brave the trip back up the stairs to the basement, let alone get behind the wheel of a vehicle. He’s not an idiot. He’s not oblivious. He knows he’s out of it right now, but that isn’t enough to get him to stop.

Because the alternative is leaving, which he can’t do. And the alternative to that is staying and laying his head down, only to hurt more, and he won’t do that either.

He’s doing the best he can with the options he has.

“Come out and fight me if I make you so angry! I can feel how mad you are at me right now. Look at me, taking my healthy living body for granted, such an asshole. Doesn’t it make you wanna fight me? Fight me! Fight-”

And alright, maybe in his youth when he was troubled and people hurt him, it worked to always default to a fight. He’s good at that, he’s muscular and unhinged and feral when he needs to be. He looked out for himself for so long, he knows what it means to give up everything for the greater good of keeping himself alive. His pride, his common sense, his own emotions… they all take a backseat right now to a desperate need to solve his problems. To mend the hurt.

His intentions had been innocent enough to start, he’d drunkenly stumbled down the stairs and slid down the final three steps on his ass after losing his footing, and he’d started talking to Lance. Just, telling him about his stay at Pidge’s house, telling him how much Kosmo misses having him around, asking him if he wants to watch a movie.

But for everything he said that went unanswered, Keith felt his patience waning.

Now he’s mad. He’s pissed. If Lance were to step out in front of him right now there’s no telling what he’d do. Just in case, he swings his fists blindly a few times, a self-amused giggle bubbling past his lips at his own antics. But it throws off his balance. He loses his footing and nearly falls face-first into the unfinished concrete flooring, sees his life flash before his eyes. But a hand grabs onto the back of his shirt and wrenches him back upright. 

“Idiot.”

Keith’s face lights up in a grin before he can stop himself.

He whirls around expectantly, only to be met with nothing. Lance is already gone. His smile falls. 

“Fine. Whatever. I didn’t wanna see you anyway.” Keith whispers, but his voice doesn’t carry any of the bravado the alcohol had been giving him up until that point. He’s starting to feel sick, like he should maybe scope out a nice toilet bowl to hunker down next to for a while. He hasn’t drank like this since his teenage years and he doesn’t handle it nearly as well now.

He looks around the basement, a lopsided little grin on his face. “You wanna help me up the stairs too?”

No response.

He scowls deeply, starts crawling back up to the first floor, getting more than a few splinters in his hand in the process. It’s a lot harder than it’s ever been before, but he manages to get up the stairs in one piece. He stumbles a bit on the way, but eventually he gets into the bathroom and kneels next to the toilet. He rests his head on the seat, figures it’s pretty much brand new anyway so it’s not that gross.

It’s a little bit gross. Whatever. 

Eventually, the sickness passes, but by then he’s exhausted. He just wants to fall asleep and conk out for the night. He heads back to the couch with his name on it, despite the fact his bed actually set-up upstairs now. There’s something about sleeping on the couch that he’s grown attached to.

Keith starts pulling off his clothes as he stumbles into the living room again, until he’s left butt naked and gracelessly falling into the leather of the couch. August is almost over, but there’s been a couple ridiculously hot days lately and this must be one of them, because Keith’s skin feels too hot and too tight on his body. He definitely doesn’t want to wear clothes. 

He turns his head to the side, eyes widening as they fall on the coffee table. There’s a hearty glass of water that he definitely doesn’t remember leaving there, but he doesn’t question it because suddenly he’s more dehydrated than he’s ever been. He chugs it down, falls onto the couch and snuggles deep down into the blanket that’s also miraculously appeared there. 

Keith feels sort-of… okay. For the first time in the past few days. There’s still a lingering sadness that he can’t really shake, sure, but there’s also a lot of warmth in his chest. His eyelids feel heavy and he finally feels like he could drift off and fall asleep and actually stay that way for a few hours.

He drifts in and out of consciousness, vaguely registers the feeling of deft fingers combing through his hair and massaging his scalp. He leans into the touch, chasing after it in his half-asleep state. It retreats and he lets out a breathy whine, but he’s too tired to really protest it like he wants to. He settles back down against the pillow and the hand slowly returns, goes back to playing with his hair. 

\--

The next morning brings him the joyous awakening of Shiro slamming his hand against his front door and shouting his name. He’s never loathed the name “Keith” so much in his life as when Shiro screams it like that and it tears Keith’s brain apart from the inside out. It’s ear-splitting pain shooting through his temples down the back of his skull.

Good god, he’s so hungover. He feels like mush as he rolls off the couch and wraps the blanket around his hips. He simply lays on the floor for another minute, but by then Shiro is threatening to break the door down, very plainly panicked, and Keith really doesn’t want to have to pay to have that fixed. Someone remind him to get Shiro a spare key.

He gets onto his feet with a pained groan, holds the blanket with one hand and holds his aching head with the other. He barely even opens his eyes the entire trip to the door, only to look and see where the knob is so he isn’t left blindly fumbling for it for too long. 

The second he unlocks it, Shiro shoves it open with such force that it hits Keith’s head and sends him off balance. He hits the floor with a thud, no one there to save him this time and-

Oh. 

He vaguely remembers Lance’s angry voice hissing in his ear, his hand gripping his shirt so tightly that he’s sure there must be tears in the fabric. Even when he couldn’t look out for himself, when he was being a royal asshole to Lance all over again… he’s still looking out for him and taking care of him. Fuck.

“Keith?! Are you okay?! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“What do you fucking_ want _, Takashi?!” Keith snarls, tugging his blanket back into place and pressing the heel of his hand into the slowly-forming bruise on his forehead. He glares up at his brother, shooting daggers in his direction, trying desperately to get him to leave. Keith is hungover, sick, hurt, and… and he needs to be alone right now to process how he feels about what happened with Lance right now.

But Shiro doesn’t get the memo, just kneels next to him and pulls him into that ridiculously sculpted chest. Keith gives a disgruntled noise of disapproval, but he’s too exhausted to fight him. He just lets himself be hugged like a limp teddy bear.

“I was so worried about you! This morning Pidge told me you didn’t come back with her last night and I couldn’t get ahold of you no matter how many texts or calls I tried. I left work to come here.”

“I’m fine.” Keith grumbles.

“Keith, what’s wrong? Don’t try and lie to me, I know you too well for that.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s in the past now.” Keith sighs long and hard, relents because he knows he can’t go on pretending nothing’s wrong when Shiro is looking at him in his current state. Shiro backs off enough for Keith to get to his feet, blanket still wrapped around his waist. “I’ve just gotta move on and forget it ever happened.”

“So… a boy, then?”

“Am I that predictable?” Keith shuffles awkward, refusing to meet his brother’s exasperated stare. He looks so disappointed and it makes Keith feel the slightest bit guilty. Shiro has always been there for him, always supported him even when he really doesn’t think he deserved it. He feels bad disappointing him, letting him down, worrying him. He always has.

Shiro gets to his feet, follows Keith toward the kitchen. 

“You got your heartbroken and you’re drinking yourself into a stupor over it? Jesus, Keith, I thought you had more common sense than this. Have I not taught you anything?” Shiro asks as he clues everything together finally, watching Keith chug down a massive glass of water. He really doesn’t want to be having a conversation this heavy right about now, but he isn’t left with much choice.

He glares at Shiro.

“Remember the time Adam said the D-I-V-O-R-C-E word after a fight and you clung to his leg for an hour refusing to let him leave?” 

“We sorted it out in the end.” Shiro mumbles under his breath, but he isn’t meeting Keith’s gaze anymore either as the embarrassment sets in. They don’t normally bring it up, Keith knows that that fight still hits incredibly close to home for Shiro. But sometimes, if he needs to make a point in an argument, it fits the bill just perfect.

Keith turns away, decides he needs a shower and a fresh set of clothes from upstairs. 

“And I’ll sort this out. I just… need time.” Keith tells him as he stops at the bottom of the stairs, turning back to smile at Shiro reassuringly. His brother looks so far from convinced that it’s comical. Keith doesn’t know how else to get him to stop being overprotective over this. “He wasn’t that special, okay? We had something for a few weeks and then it died. We didn’t want the same things. I’ll meet someone else.”

The house shakes. Lance really, really, really does not like that idea. Duly noted.

“Keith.” Shiro takes a shaky step toward him, he’s looking around like he thinks it’s an earthquake and he needs to get them both to safety. That probably makes more sense than the reality so Keith doesn’t protest when Shiro starts toward him with determination in his eyes. But he then promptly freezes in horror before he’s even crossed half of the space between them. Keith panics, wonders if somehow he’s seen Lance. Keith whips to follow his line of sight and barely sees it in time to dodge.

A loud startling crash fills the room and Keith falls on his ass in his rush to get away from the source of the noise. It fell right beside him on the stairs, hit so hard that it exploded into multiple pieces of broken shards of wood and glass and-

“Keith!” Shiro charges forward, wraps him up in his arms again and lifts him clean off the ground. There’s quiet stifled noises coming from where Shiro’s face is pressed into Keith’s shoulder, almost akin to low sobs. Keith tenses, isn’t sure what to do in this situation. “Jesus Christ, that chandelier could have killed you! Imagine if that hit your head!”

“I guess they didn’t install it properly.” Keith’s tone is unreadable. Barren. He can’t wrap his head around what just happened. It’s so far outside the realm of possibility that his mind is just short-circuiting.

“Yeah, or you’re being haunted!” Shiro shakes his entire body around for emphasis, pulls Keith back so they can look each other in the eye. Keith’s bare feet kick uselessly into thin air, wishing Shiro would put him down already. “Keith, I know you like this place, but have you considered… selling it? It’s probably worth a lot more now that it’s fixed up. You could get something nicer. Newer.”

Panic flares up like a fire in Keith’s stomach. Lance’s panic. It’s so overwhelming and jarring that Keith feels like he’s gonna be sick. It’s mixed with a resigned sense of acceptance and a bitterness, like Lance has already given up on Keith ever wanting to stay here. It hurts, a little bit, that Lance thinks he’d give up on them so quickly.

He nearly falls over when Shiro lowers him back to the ground, safely away from the broken glass.

“I don’t want-”

“Just promise me to think about it. If something doesn’t change soon. Please.” Shiro begs him. All around them, the lights begin to flicker as Lance grows progressively more uncomfortable with the topic. Even though he won’t say it for Keith’s sake, he knows now that Shiro probably feels that same anger being broadcasted into the space. Shiro must know that there’s a ghost here too, Pidge has probably been talking his ear off about it. But, he hasn’t really said a word to Keith other than just now.

He knows that Keith doesn’t want to talk about it. Even if it’s killing him to keep silent.

“I don’t think it would have killed me.” Keith suggests optimistically, smiling at Shiro. There’s an apology in there somewhere, a gratitude expressed toward his brother for being so accommodating and not trying to force him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. 

“You get mad when I worry and then shit like this happens.” Shiro agonizes, scrubbing his hands across his face to bring himself back to the moment. Keith watches him boredly, the entire blanket wrapped around himself now like a cocoon. “I just came by to check on you, but now I don’t wanna leave.”

“Go home, Shiro.” Keith tells him, smiling thinly. “Enjoy your day off. Go home to Adam.”

“You wanna hitch a ride back with me?” He flashes that pathetic dog-like grin, practically begging Keith to give in to him and just let him have this. He’ll worry himself sick once he gets back home, they both know he will. But Keith isn’t budging on this, he can take care of himself.

“I’m not leaving my truck here.” Keith tells him evenly, shaking his head. “I’ll be home tonight, okay?”

“Call me as soon as you head out.” Though he doesn’t look to be happy about it, Shiro has admitted his defeat. Keith leans in to hug him one last time, gives his back a few comforting pats right between those massive shoulder blades. Shiro lets out one heavy exhale, like he’s been holding his breath since walking into this place. Keith understands that feeling all too well.

“I’ll stay in touch, don’t worry.” It’s a genuine promise that Keith has every intention of fulfilling. He leads the way back to the door, shows Shiro out and back to his vehicle even as the man continues making weak efforts to convince Keith to go with him.

Eventually, Keith gets him to leave. The car pulls out onto the road and disappears. Keith waves until its well out of sight and then some. He can’t bring himself to stop though because that means going back into the house and admitting to what he has to do next. What he has to address next. 

He walks back inside eventually, looks around the big empty room and finally lets his eyes fall on the absolutely massacred chandelier. He’d paid a pretty penny for it too, including the installation. He wanted it to be as close to the rotten original one that they’d pulled down from the ceiling. It was the most attention grabbing piece of the room, Lance had helped him pick it out.

His frown deepens.

When he speaks, he shouts. He addresses the entire house as if it’s one with Lance.

“We gonna do this? A full-fledged haunting? Gonna kill my dog and drag me down the stairs?” Keith laughs a little bit as his own sick sense of humor, does a little shoulder shimmy for dramatic effect. The house doesn’t respond to him, just creaks and settles, like Lance’s pull on the boards has lessened. The silence is deafening. He can’t even feel Lance’s emotions right now, like he’s found a way to school them into submission and keep Keith in the dark.

Would it really be so hard for him to just… apologize? To clarify that it was an accident?

“At least feel sorry for it! I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose and you didn’t mean to, but damn it, an apology would be nice!” Keith shouts, anger getting the better of him again for a split second. But then he thinks back to last night, to drunkenly stumbling around and trying to fight Lance, and a wave of regret hits him too. He doesn’t want to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t want to default to rage when his emotions get too confusing to untangle.

He curls in on himself, sinks down onto the couch and brings his knees up to his chest. He rests his chin atop them, looks around the room dismally. 

“It’s pretty much finished. I’m gonna be moving in full-time this weekend.” He says into the nothingness, begs to feel Lance’s presence or his emotions somewhere in the room. He gets nothing. Still, he can’t bring himself to give up, so he continues talking to himself. “We’re having a party. It’s a whole thing. I’m gonna hate every second of it. Could use all the help I could get.” 

More silence follows. 

“Talk to me? Please?” Keith whispers, voice breaking around the words. He doesn’t want to cry, he doesn’t want this to be another pathetic addition to the list of times Lance has seen him at his weakest state. He’s seen so much more than anyone else already, maybe it isn’t a surprise that Lance wants nothing to do with him anymore. He really is a mess. And he’s so bad at all of this.

He starts crying again despite what he’s promised himself. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been acting like a giant asshole. I didn’t mean to mess everything up between us. I wish I’d never fallen in love with you, I’d take it back if I could. Just, _ please _, talk to me.”

When even begging doesn’t work, Keith feels something inside himself snap.

“I know you’re fucking here, Lance!”

He’s done. He’s done chasing after Lance, he’s done caring. He’s done opening himself up to more and more heartbreak. He won’t be hot and angry, but he will be cold and callous. He’ll distance himself from Lance, but more importantly, from his own emotions. He’ll swallow them down and he’ll refuse to address them like he has so many times before.

It’s the Keith Kogane way. 

\--

He doesn’t come back to the house again, only to clean up the chandelier, until that weekend on the day of the party. It feels weird to be having a party now, to be celebrating his brand new house when his friends have spent the better half of the week desperately trying to convince him to sell it. But, he’d already invited people and he’d worked so hard to finish everything in time. So, the party is a go.

Shiro had been dealing with the movers to get the furniture to all of its respective rooms and bless his heart, he hadn’t even questioned it when Keith told him to bring all of Lance’s stuff he’d picked out up to his room. He just accepts Keith’s lie that it’s another guest room, despite knowing Keith will never have a need for a guest room beyond the rooms he’s already designated as Shiro and Pidge’s. 

The weekend comes and Keith goes back to the house on Saturday morning to start preparing for the party that night. Both Shiro and Pidge are there with him and he’s never out of their sight for more than a second or two. They work as decent enough distractions from the silence in Keith’s head, but he still can’t shake how different the place feels. It’s like Lance isn’t even there anymore. 

He must be. He has to be. He’s likely just figured out a way to hide his emotions from Keith.

That’s fine. Keith doesn’t want to deal with them anyway. It’s better this way.

\--

The party is as terribly awkward as Keith had expected it to be. Having so many people in one place has him feeling cornered and uneasy, especially when the focus of the entire get together is him and his lovely new house. He knows almost all of them, of course, but it’s not the same as being surrounded by close friends. He feels on edge the entire night, even after the first hour passes and everyone starts to settle down more.

There are people in every corner of his usually quiet home. 

Shiro and Pidge are doing their best to entertain most of them, but every now and then Keith has to actively participate in a conversation and he’s left wondering why he ever agreed to let anyone throw him a party. It’s really not his scene. Especially when he’s in such a terrible place mentally and they’re all treating him like he now has his entire life figured out.

He’s never felt so lost.

That’s why he finds himself sneaking out into the cool night air and standing on the porch, admiring the sea of cars littering his front yard. Everyone from Shiro’s parents to Matt had made an effort to show up and celebrate Keith’s big moment. He knows he should be thankful for it, really, but he’s just sad. He’s so sad and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. Every other breakup people had told him that he needed time and that it’d heal all wounds, but that doesn’t seem to work when he’s spending his time in a house that reminds him so vividly of the cause of his pain.

Maybe he should sell it. Start over somewhere else.

A pair of headlights turn into the drive and Keith perks up at the distraction, stands up straight to get a glimpse at the guy climbing out of the van. It’s one of those cube vans with detailing painted on the side, like it’s for some sort-of delivery company. Vaguely, Keith wonders if someone ordered pizza.

The man approaches him with a huge backpack strapped on his back, eyes glued to his phone as he walks up to the front steps. He only looks up once he’s practically in front of Keith and he seems a little shocked to see him there. His eyes widen, and then a kind smile stretches across his lips.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I totally lost track of time.” The man holds out a hand to Keith and Keith gives it a cursory shake, though he’s still incredibly confused about who this man is. He’s never seen him in his entire life and he wants answers. “I just texted Pidge and let her know that I’m here.”

“Who are you?” Keith asks, taking a step closer and stretching as tall as he can. Even still, the man dwarfs him in size. He’s bulky, a wall of muscle and fat. He’s also kind though, even as Keith stares him down like fresh meat to a chopping block, he keeps that stupid warm grin on his face.

“I’m Hunk. I’m with the para-”

He doesn’t get to finish speaking as the front door flings open, the bass of the music flowing out into the night. Pidge all but throws herself out the door and grabs the man’s (Hunk’s) hand. Keith furrows his eyebrows together in confusion, looking toward their joined hands as Pidge attempts to haul the man six times her size into the house.

“This is Hunk, he’s a friend of mine.” Pidge says, when she catches Keith’s curious gaze. He doesn’t say anything, but even still she rushes to defend herself. “You said I could invite someone, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” Keith shakes himself out of his stupor, decides he’ll cast judgment later. For now, he’s all false formalities and thin thoughtless smiles. He nods at the stranger. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Absolutely, the pleasure’s all mine.” Hunk says, but he looks almost jittery. Either he’s incredibly nervous to be at a house party and meeting Pidge’s other friends for the first time, or he’s unreasonable excited to be there. But Hunk looks hyped up and his words only confirm Keith’s theory. “I’m really excited to be here. You definitely won’t regret this.”

“Hunk, come on, let’s go inside.” Pidge tugs on his arm harder, shooting him a knowing look. At that, Hunk quiets down and goes along with her. Keith watches them disappear into the crowd, muttering and whisper between each other. Hunk glances back at him and meets his gaze for a split second before hurriedly turning back around. They’re definitely up to something.

Keith takes one last look around the comfort space of his quiet porch, and then he ducks back inside and into the party atmosphere. In all honesty, it’s hardly a rager, it’s maybe thirty people and a good portion of them are middle aged parents. It’s not the party itself, it’s the social aspect. It’s the pedestal everyone is putting him on tonight, the guest of honor. He hates it. 

So he uses his time to sneak around between social circles and keep an eye on Pidge and that strange man she brought with her. It keeps his mind off of all the socializing he’s doing.

Pidge and Hunk don’t really stick with the bulk of the party, they frequently wander off together down long hallways, and at one upstairs on their own. And if Pidge was anyone other than Pidge, Keith would maybe assume that they’re dating and looking for a nice place to avoid wandering eyes. But… this is Pidge. She’s not interested in that sort-of thing whatsoever and has made that adamantly clear since the early days of their friendship.

There aren’t exceptions to the rule. Or at least, none that she’s told Keith about.

He prowls quietly around, keeps an eye on them from afar. Hunk is chatty, whenever Keith catches sight of them the big guy is going off about something, hands gesturing wildly as he chats Pidge’s ear off. And, somehow, she doesn’t even look annoyed by the fact that she can’t get a word in edgewise. She seems to be enjoying whatever tangent he’s off on, enthralled by whatever he’s saying. Like she’s learning something from him.

Pidge never looks like that unless she’s accumulating new information, that’s her equivalent to lovestruck and awed. She loves people that can teach her something new.

In the end, Keith feels a little bit creepy as he watches Pidge and Hunk go into a bathroom together and close the door behind themselves. Surely there’s only so many contexts in which that would be something comfortable to do with someone that isn’t a romantic partner? Pidge has never even once mentioned this guy before so they can’t actually be that close of friends.

So the question remains, what the hell are they _ doing _ in that bathroom?

“Who’s that guy Pidge is with?” Shiro asks as he sidles up beside Keith, dropping an arm around his shoulders. Truth be told, Keith has hardly seen his brother since the party started and Adam arrived for the event. Shiro spends all of his time hanging off of his husband like a trophy wife and it’s sort-of cute but also sort-of annoying because Keith could really use the back-up right now during his reconnaissance mission.

No matter, Shiro is here now and so he’ll take advantage of what he’s got.

“A new friend, I guess.” Keith turns to Shiro, eyebrows raised pointedly. “He’s a little weird, isn’t he?”

“You shouldn’t judge people like that.” Shiro reprimands him gently, pulling Keith in close to his side and dropping his voice an octave. “But… yeah. He keeps wandering off on his own. It’s like he doesn’t even want to be around the party, or even Pidge. Hell, did he bring a gift? It’s like he doesn’t even know what this event is.”

Hearing it from Shiro’s lips really puts it all into perspective, validates all of the suspicions and theories that Keith has been working with. He nods slowly, processing the information and trying to decide his next course of action. He needs to do something, can’t let this go on any longer.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Keith asks, casting Shiro a familiar look. Shiro nods slowly, a sense of understanding washing over his face.

“She’s trying to set you up with a stranger to help you get over your break-up and it’s failing horribly.” He says, giving Keith an apologetic shoulder pat like he’s in need of comforting. And wait, no? Shiro isn’t on the same page as him at all, damn it. Sometimes he forgets what a clueless oaf his brother is. 

He rolls his eyes.

“_ No _, I’m thinking she brought a fucking ghost guy to my house.”

“What?”

“A paranormal investigator, whatever you wanna call it. Maybe he’s even an exorcist, I don’t really know the details. All I know is that he’s in my house without my permission and hunting for my ghost.”

“Your ghost?” Shiro questions dumbly, but Keith is already walking away from him. His shoulders are set and his steps are heavy, he knows exactly what he wants and he’s not taking no for an answer. He walks with purpose, directly toward where Pidge just disappeared around a corner into the mudroom.

He’s not surprised to find the basement door open, or to find that Pidge and her friend have descended down the steps. He can hear them talking down there, but it’s quiet enough that he can’t really distinguish individual words and he’s left trying to piece sentences together. He definitely hears the word “ghost” come up more than once though, which is all he really needs to confirm his theory. 

As much as he’s dying to confront them, anger beginning to build in his core, he also doesn’t want to go down to the basement to do it. Sue him, he’s a little bit nervous walking straight into Lance’s new domain when the other boy has been so silent for days. He has no idea what Lance is feeling, if he’s even still around. On the one hand, he could be furious with Keith for going down there. On the other hand, he could be totally absent from the basement as well, at which point Keith would truly begin to worry about whether he was even still around.

Either way, going into the basement sounds like a recipe for having his heart torn from his chest and stomped on a few times. He’s been avoiding that place like the plague and not even this is enough to get him to go down there.

So he rejoins the party, mingles with strangers and hopes to god that they aren’t down there trying to smude the place and kick Lance out. He figures Lance would reach out to him if he thought he was in danger somehow. Lance may be ignoring him, but if push came to shove and either of their lives were on the line Keith knows they’d drop everything for each other even still.

He still cares. So damn much. He’d do anything for Lance if only the other boy would ask.

But the very second they come back from the basement, Hunk wanders off to the bathroom again on his own this time, and Keith sees his opportunity as Pidge lingers round the refreshment table. He pounces.

“Pidge, who is that guy?” He says, as he sneaks up on her from behind. She jumps a foot into the air, turns around with wide guilty eyes. She’s definitely hiding something and Keith knows she is.

“Just a friend.”

“Do you sneak off to the bathroom and basement with all of your friends? I feel excluded.” Keith knows he has her right where he wants her. She’s caught in the act and unless she’s gotten really good at improvising a lie overnight, she’s just gonna feel pressured to the point she spits the truth right out.

“Look, Keith, don’t freak out.” Pidge heaves out an exhale, entire body shuddering. She looks up at Keith from behind a curtain of her hair, very visibly nervous. Normally, Keith would be gentler about it to accommodate it, to make her feel safer. Right now, he just keeps right on glaring. 

“I’ll decide if I want to freak out after you tell me everything. Now.”

“He lives around here. He told me that someone died in this house and he knew the guy! They weren’t really close or anything, Hunk’s a little bit older than he was, but they knew each other!” Pidge explains this like it’s the best news she’s ever delivered, like Keith will be happy to hear it. Keith is the furthest thing from happy. “And now Hunk is a medium, he has a pretty big Youtube channel if you wanna check it out. I don’t know, I thought it would be the perfect person to put this whole thing behind us once and for all.”

A long pause. Pidge is looking at him so hopefully, like she’s blind enough to somehow think Keith’s blank scowl is a positive reaction.

“This is _ my _ day, Pidge.” Keith says evenly, void of emotion. But that’s a red flag in itself because when Keith is irked, he overreacts and makes it into a much bigger deal than it is. But when Keith is actually, genuinely pissed? He goes almost nonverbal with rage. It overwhelms him so much. “It’s _ my _ party, why would you make it about the ghosts again?”

God, the thought that she tried to dig up Lance’s past when Keith himself hasn’t even been entitled enough to try to do that. He didn't want to be nosy, to dig anywhere he wasn’t allowed to. Anything he found out he wanted to learn from the source. He didn’t want to make Lance uncomfortable, didn’t want to believe anyone that didn’t know the full story. And here Pidge is, just googling it up like it means nothing and then contacting people from Lance’s past.

It’s Lance’s private life! Lance’s death! No one gets the right to talk about it but him.

And to think that… Pidge probably wants Lance gone. She’s probably here looking for clues on the quickest way to banish him three ways from Sunday. There’s no way she went through all the trouble of finding this stranger just because she wants to have a little chat with a spirit, especially today of all days. 

There’s something final about doing this the day Keith is meant to move into this house as a permanent full-time residency. This is her gift to him, a christening of the home, a cleansing that he never consented to. She wants to rid his life of the danger and the stress. She wants to rid him of _ Lance _.

He’s furious at the thought.

“Keith, I didn’t mean to-”

“What’s he finding? Is he talking to the dead yet? Getting the gory details?” Keith snarls at her, crowding closer until she’s backing up so far that she nearly knocks a plate from the table. Keith looms over her with a sharp glare, just daring her to try and explain her actions. There was no explaining this. She went behind his back to do this. To hurt Lance.

Pidge turns away from him and Keith follows her gaze to where Hunk has left the bathroom. He’s walking around the circles of guests in the living room, a little metal contraption in his hand. A scanner, or maybe a communicator, Keith doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.

“Hey, Hunk!” Keith yells out to him, loud enough for the entire party to turn and look in his direction. He can hear Pidge’s sharp intake of breath, the panic there. He ignores her, jogs over to where Hunk has come to stop standing in the middle of the room. He looks very uncomfortable, like he has no idea what to make of Keith or how to act around him. “What’s the situation? We have an infestation or what?”

“Um…” Hunk looks toward Pidge for answers, but Keith sidesteps and blocks his view. He makes sure that Hunk has to reply genuinely, no outside input on what he’s meant to say. He looks down at the scanner, turns it around to show Keith. It’s a little flimsy gadget, possibly homemade. “I haven’t really been able to pick up on much yet, but I can feel a presence, yes.”

“Did you even know his name before he died?” Keith asks coldly, straight to the point. There are more than a few people turned back and looking in their direction again, especially as Keith reaches up and grips the collar of Hunk’s shirt. He yanks him in closer.

“Lance?” Hunk asks, looking at Keith wide wide terrified eyes. “Yeah, we had a few mutual friends. I hung out with him a few times. He was a nice guy.”

“But he wasn’t _ your _ friend.” Keith presses, tightens his grip until Hunk is fighting to back away from him entirely. He’s big enough that he could probably squash Keith like a bug if he so pleased, but he doesn’t bother. He just answers Keith’s question obediently, so sweet about it that it makes Keith’s teeth rot.

“No, not really? I mean, I always thought we could be, but it just never worked o-”

“And you think, if for some godforsaken reason his spirit is hanging around in my house, that he wants to speak to you? The guy who took him for granted when he was alive?!” Keith snarls, stepping forward to settle his hands on Hunk’s chest and shove with all his might. The stranger stumbles, barely managing to keep his balance. Keith glares at him, walking in a vicious circle around him. “Or is he only worth your time when he’s dead and furthers the agenda you’re trying to prove?”

“I don’t have an agenda, Pidge invited me here to communicate with any spirits and make sure there was nothing malicious going on.” Hunk states clearly, turning to follow Keith as he circles. Everyone has turned to watch them now, Shiro staring from the sidelines in disappointment, Pidge looking mortified by Keith’s behavior, and everyone else is a mixture of confused and concerned.

“You think the guy who died saving his niece from a bullet turned into a malicious spirit?” 

The words ring out loudly in the room, and everyone must hear the way his voice breaks. 

“Keith, leave him alone.” Shiro’s voice rings out sharply, an unspoken warning behind the words. It’s a warning that Keith doesn’t heed, doesn’t care to even acknowledge. Nothing could tear him away from his goal right now. He’s pissed.

“Please, Keith!” Pidge tries to reason with him, charging forward to try and physically drag him back. He shrugs her off easily, advances on Hunk and winds his arm back. He’s about to throw the first punch, fingers curled and knuckles braced, wrist steady, and-

“Keith, calm down, he didn’t mean any harm.” Lance’s hand settles against Keith’s fist, folds around it and holds it. Keith freezes, wide-eyed and still as he can possibly go. There’s something angry in Lance’s expression, even as his voice slips past his lips so smooth and comforting. He’s trying to calm Keith down, but he’s very obviously not pleased with him. “I’m serious. Stop trying to fight my battles for me. I don’t have any problem with Hunk, he’s a nice guy. None of this is his fault. I know you’re looking for someone to blame, but it isn’t him. Knock it off.”

It’s so strange seeing Lance again.

Normally, Keith would have the sense to be discreet about the way the ghost instantly claims all of his attention and steals his gaze. But right now, he turns his head completely to look at Lance, to drink him in so fully and shamelessly that he’s sure everyone in the room must think he’s losing his mind. Power seems to radiate off of Lance when he’s like this, all pissed and sexy, standing there confidently despite his utter lack of clothes in a room full of people.

Keith wants to touch. He wants to apologize. He wants to beg for forgiveness. He wants.

But he can’t have. So he compromises with the next best thing.

“Hey, idiot! Ghosts aren’t real!” Keith pushes Lance aside, zeroes in on Hunk and just goes straight for the kill. He shoves the other boy again, gets up in his face and all but growls at him. “They’re not real and they don’t want to talk to you, okay?! They don’t want to talk to anyone! They certainly don’t want to talk to me, that’s for sure.”

He turns to where Lance had been standing, planning on shooting him a knowing glare. But he’s gone again, disappeared back into the crowd, into the nothingness of this stupid house. Keith turns back to Hunk instead, leans up on his tippy toes to appear more threatening. Hunk cowers.

“I’m sorry?” He tries, looking at Keith helplessly. Keith doesn’t want an apology, it doesn’t fix anything anyway. He just rolls his eyes and pushes off from Hunk, whirls around and cups his hands over his mouth to start shouting. He doesn’t want an apology. He wants a reaction.

Suddenly he’s sixteen and acting up for attention at school again, picking fights with anyone who looks like they’ll throw a punch back. He just wants to feel something.

“Eat my ass, spirits!” Keith shouts loudly, loud enough that Lance has to hear him. “Eat. My. Ass.”

“Keith.” Hunk’s voice seems even on the surface, but beneath it’s trembling. Keith ignores him completely, continues looking discreetly around the room for any sign of Lance. “You have to show them some respect. If there are spirits here they aren’t going to like being treated like this. It’s no wonder you’ve been having problems with them.”

Hunk settles a hand on Keith’s arm and Keith wrenches it away like he’s been burned.

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about my problems.” Keith snaps at him. “Get out of my house.”

“I feel like I should warn you-”

“What? Are the ghosts saying mean things about me?” 

“You know, I think they wanna communicate more directly from now on. I feel like I’ve overstayed my welcome, clearly, so I’ll get out of your hair.” Hunk holds his hands up defensively between them, as he slowly backs toward the door. Keith glowers at him, the most withering and hateful look he can muster right now. Hunk just smiles back, sheepish and nervous. “Good… luck?”

Hunk turns tail and books it out of the house. He looks scared, but Keith can’t help but wonder if that’s because of him or because of whatever nonsense Lance had been feeding the medium. Whatever. It serves its purpose and got rid of the nuisance either way.

Keith doesn’t have long to bask in the glory though, before Pidge marches up to him and slaps him clean across the face. It leaves his skin stinging, a handprint no doubt forming in the shape of her tiny palm.

“I’m pissed at you and no shitty apology is going to fix it this time, Kogane!” Pidge barks at him, trying to sound tough about it. She’s clearly upset though, feels hurt by Keith betraying her like that. Keith watches her storm off, makes awkward eye contact with her older brother when he chases after her. He wants to have it in him to feel bad, but he just can’t right now.

The entire room of guests is staring at him. They’re so expectant. He doesn’t know what they want, but they’re making it clear that they want something. An outcome, a conclusion, an apology for the drama, he can’t figure it out and maybe never will. He just needs them to stop looking at him.

He whirls around and tries to take off.

“Keith.” Shiro’s hand darts out and grabs onto Keith’s shoulder hard enough that when he tries to shove it off, it only has him stumbling over his feet. He grits his teeth, reluctantly turning to glare up at Shiro from beneath his eyelashes. He’s seething quietly, no regret or remorse for his actions finding him just yet. He knows it’ll come, when he’s capable of feeling more than one emotion, but right now his anger is so big and all-consuming that it’s all he knows. 

Shiro must be able to tell. He’s seen that look on Keith many a time. Some of his confidence wavers, a quiet sigh filtering past his lips. “What the hell was that about?”

“I don’t think I’m being unreasonable by asking them not to do that weird shit in my house.”

“You were a little harsh, don’t you think?” Shiro asks him, equal parts an accusation and a genuine question, like he isn’t sure if Keith sees that. Keith isn’t even sure if he does see it. He’s vibrating with anger in the spot, hands curling and uncurling into fists, bottom lip being gnawed upon by his sharp front teeth. Fuck. He wants to punch someone still. “Are you okay?”

What a stupid question.

Of course he isn’t okay.

“Party’s over, pack up!” Keith yells at the room, then whirls around and takes off up the stairs. He disappears into his bedroom, slams the door shut behind himself. He trusts that Shiro will see everyone out, do damage control after Keith’s outburst. So, he lies there, face buried into his pillow as he wills himself not to cry. He’s not even sure if he wants to. He’s not sad right now, just mad. Mad at the whole entire universe for taking something so valuable from him.

A short while later and he hears a quiet knock on his door. He doesn’t respond, but it eases open anyway to reveal a frazzled looking Shiro. 

“Hey, how are you feeling, sport?” 

“Don’t talk to me like an old gay dad.” Keith responds, the words muffled as he grumbles them into his pillow. Shiro hums in acknowledgement, lets out a quiet pained noise, and then walks across the room to settle on the bed next to Keith’s slumped form. 

“Just, make sure to keep your phone charged if you’re set on staying here tonight.”

“I am.” Keith lifts his head, shoots him a harsh glare at the mere implication that he wouldn’t. Shiro stares back at him, trying to pretend he isn’t intimidated by it. “It’s my housewarming party, Shiro, I’m gonna stay in my fucking house.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I don’t think I care what you think.” Keith snarks back, daring him to challenge any further than that.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a long time and eventually Shiro just nods in defeat, rising onto his feet with an air of sadness about him.

“I’m only half an hour away but I’ll speed fast enough to make it here in ten minutes if you need me.” He promises, reaching down to ruffle Keith’s hair. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, if this is still about that boy or what, but you can talk to me about anything. You know that right?”

“I don’t want-”

“When you’re ready, of course.” Shiro cuts him off sharply, before they can devolve into another argument. He wants to get the final word in, wants to make sure that Keith hears what he’s saying and genuinely feels comfortable taking him up on the offer if he needs to. 

“Whatever.” Keith mumbles, deciding to just let it be. Shiro steps away from the bed, hesitates a moment, and then retreats further out of the room. Just before closing the door, Keith hears him push it back open, likely to poke his head in.

“Love you.”

Keith doesn’t respond.

\--

Eventually, Keith composes himself enough to get up and haul his ass into the shower. He’s still angry and frustrated, but he hopes that the warm water might soothe him enough for him to fall asleep rather than spending the entire night restless and kicking in his sheets. It’s a last ditch effort but he’s honestly getting desperate at this point, he’s so overtired and strung-out. 

It doesn’t relax him, necessarily.

It does distract him, though. 

See, between the pent-up crawling sensation of needing to do something to work off his excess energy, and the heat bringing a pleasant flush to his pale skin… Keith reaches an age-old natural conclusion about what he should be doing to calm himself down. Or amp himself up. Whatever. He’s horny and he’s already naked with easy access to all his bits, he’s gonna get off.

Keith reaches a hand up to his nipple, rubs his thumb over it a few times until it’s pebbled and hard beneath his touch, and then he starts to roll it between his fingers and squeeze in earnest. He feels the swoop of arousal low through his stomach, down the length of his cock as it starts to stir to attention. He reaches down with his other hand to fondle his balls, touching himself everywhere but where he really needs to as he slowly works himself up.

It doesn’t take long, with all the adrenaline already coursing through his body. Soon enough his cock is standing hard and straining between his legs, begging for attention as Keith continues to tease himself anywhere but. He gives a breathy chuckle, trailing one fingertip along his shaft from base to head, gives his tip the barest fleeting rub of attention and nearly causes his knees to buckle.

Fuck. He really needs this. Between his mood as of late and staying at Pidge’s place for so many nights, he hasn’t had much time to himself where touching himself is on his mind. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s gotten off since the last time when him and Lance were fooling around. 

The thought makes him scowl, a low anger settling over him again. To take his mind off of it, he finally gives in to what he really wants and wraps his hand around his cock, giving it a steady squeeze just to test the waters. His hips buck forward on their own accord, desperately searching out the stimulation, and Keith admits to himself that he really isn’t gonna last long.

It’s gonna be over embarrassingly fast, but it’s not like he has anyone to impress here. 

He leans back against the wall of the shower, rolls his hips into his hand as he uses the falling water to aid the movement. It’s not the same as lube, not nearly as effortless and slick, but it’ll do the job because he isn’t about to stop for anything at this point.

He brings his hands up, spits into his palm and brings it back down to grab at himself. He starts a steady rhythm then, running his hand over his cock in a tight fist. Tight at the base, loose as it reaches the tip, alternating pressure that keeps him on his toes. Literally, he’s pretty sure he’s gonna slip and fall in the shower, so fucking sensitive to it that he’s struggling to stay still. 

Keith throws his head back, knocks his head against the wall like the idiot he is, but he barely even feels it as he starts to fist his cock a little faster. He’s leaking pre-cum at this point, the tip of his cock flushed an angry red. It’s hardly been more than a minute or two, but he’s already close. 

He uses his other hand to reach down, cup his balls and roll them in his palm. His cock gives a heavy twitch, a fog of lust so heavy it feels like a blanket draped over him. He’s flushed and panting, biting his lips to keep from making any embarrassing noises even though he’s home alone. He keeps touching himself, jerking and tugging on his cock and getting rougher with it as he goes. His other hand is sliding back behind his balls, two fingers pressing hard against his perineum in search of something more.

It’s nice, but it isn’t what he’s looking for. Sure, he could absolutely come like this, and he probably will, but it isn’t going to give him the satisfying fucked-out orgasm that he’s looking for, the kind that’ll leave him boneless when he falls back into his bed after his shower.

With begrudging acceptance, Keith leaves the shower running as he steps out and snatches his towel, doing the horny waddle of shame back to his bedroom. He doesn’t even have to search for what box the lube is in now, he’s shoved it into the drawer of his bedside table despite the fact he hasn’t put away literally any of his clothes. So the only things inside that entire table right now is a bottle of lube and a dildo. Priorities, indeed.

He snatches the lube, eyes the dildo before ultimately deciding he’s not willing to make this that big of a deal, and then darts back to the shower. 

The water feels nice as he stumbles back underneath it, but the first touch of his lube-covered fingers to his rim feels even nicer. He pushes on in without any hesitation and is met with the slightest bit of resistance, figures that’s probably a tell-tale sign that he should slow down and pace himself a little more reasonably when it’s been so long since doing this. 

He doesn’t. It’s just not in Keith’s nature to be patient when he’s horny. He shoves another finger inside himself alongside the first within seconds, and the sting isn’t painful as much as it’s an arousing ache that reminds him how much his body’s taking. He lets out a punched-out groan that he couldn’t begin to stifle even if he tried, hand on his cock stuttering in its rhythm because he’s thoroughly distracted at this point. 

The two fingers thrust in and out of his entrance side-by-side for a while, just getting used to the feeling of behind filled again. But then he stretches them apart inside of himself, curls and prods around, just barely manages to brush against the spot inside that has his entire body threatening to sink to its knees in the porcelain tub. Fuck.

Come to think of it, he’d probably get a better angle on his knees than he has standing.

It’s as Keith stands there contemplating, not distracted by his own touch or his own pleasure for the first time since grabbing the lube… he realizes something. The feeling of heat, arousal, and lust doesn’t fade at all when he’s not actively touching himself. Sure, maybe it could be garnered that he’s just so fucking horny he feels like he could come without any stimulation whatsoever, but that’s not really realistic.

He turns, tries to stare through the steam-covered glass of the shower.

It’s possible he’s imagining the whole thing. He hasn’t felt any of Lance’s emotions in days, so he somehow doubts that Lance would slip-up now and let him feel how turned on he is when he’s trying to sneakily perv on Keith. It’s also possible that Lance is so worked up that he’s losing that new control he’s reeled in, his libido getting the better of him.

So maybe he’s imagining it, but he’s going to pretend for his sake that he’s not. Because it might be the hottest fucking fantasy his horny cave man brain has ever thought of in his life. He’s not normally one for imagining fantasies, he’s a visual type of guy, usually gets off to shitty porn and then wipes the mess away with shame. But… there’s something to be said for exploring new creative avenues. 

He imagines Lance lingering just outside the shower, tucked into the corner of the bathroom and listening to the noises Keith’s making, the hitched gasps and broken whimpers. Maybe he’s even touching himself. He’s probably naked, he doesn’t wear clothes anymore. Looming in the corner tall, dark, and naked while Keith unknowingly puts on a show for him. Fuck. 

Times like these he’s devastated that he never got to see Lance’s cock that night. He imagines it’s big, long and curved, uncut. Fuck. He can only imagine how good it would feel having Lance feed that cock into his ass inch by inch, making him feel the stretch as he goes as punishment for his behavior lately.

Eventually, he gives in to the urge and sinks down to the floor of the tub. 

He just can’t get his fingers_ deep enough _while standing. 

Soon enough, his knees are locked on either side of the tub’s floor, giving lots of room for him to reach behind himself and slide his fingers in further than before. His cock is hanging heavy and untouched between his legs, because he doesn’t want this to be over too soon. 

He thinks about how he’d act if Lance really was here, watching him from the other side of the shower wall. Keith’s never considered himself to be a tease, but he thinks with Lance he might have to be, to rile him up and get him going. Otherwise, Lance is just too soft, too kind. And as much as Keith loves that about him, he’s only ever had sex rough and fast, dirty and filthy with intent, and as far as he knows that’s the way he likes it.

He likes to think that Lance could give it to him like that, if he was a really good boy and worked him up just right. 

In the spirit of embracing the fantasy whole-heartedly, Keith lifts his head and tries to peer through the glass shrouded in mist. He licks his lips, imagines just how he’d seduce Lance to get in this damn shower with him if he could. 

“Oh, Lance! Fuck me harder, please!” Keith drawls out, a high-pitched reedy moan following. It’s only the slightest bit exaggerated. He really is feeling good right now, three fingers brushing against his prostate just enough to have his hips stuttering back into it. God, he wishes now that he’d grabbed the dildo, because whether he’d anticipated it or not, it's definitely becoming one of those nights. The type of night where he’d go out and find an easy hook-up, if he was a little bit younger and less reserved.

He hears it something clatter against the tile floor. He hears it over his own moans, over the running water of the shower, over the slick sounds of his own fingers fucking his ass. It’s nothing heavy, maybe a shampoo bottle or a tube of toothpaste off the sink, but fuck… it’s _ something _.

It’s the most damning and incriminating piece of evidence he’s ever heard.

Lance is here. Listening to him. Lusting after him.

As much as Keith wants to just call him out and tell him to get in this damn shower with him right here and right now, he knows that’s not how he’s supposed to play this game. Lance has been ghosting around him for over a week now and being direct hasn’t been enough to gain his attention. He has to be coy about it, make sure that Lance makes the first move. 

And he will. He won’t be able to resist forever.

“Mm, feels so good, so good inside me.” Keith moans, face-planting against the floor of the tub because if he’s gonna do this he’s gonna commit to it. He keeps fingering himself, his other hand coming down to play with his cock. Just idle strokes, the odd squeeze, barely-there caresses against the swollen head. He doesn’t want to come, but he can already feel himself slipping. 

So, he makes the most out of what little time he has. Revs his sluttiness factor up to full blast, hopes that it’s not so obvious that Lance will be scared off, but obvious enough that he’ll know that Keith knows that he’s there. He would give anything for Lance to climb into the shower behind him, to just slide home and go straight to railing him. Fuck. He wants a cock in him right now.

He drops his voice into a low growl, aims for seductive and in-control, but he probably just ends up sounding desperate for it. “I’m gonna _ come _. Gonna come on your big fat cock.”

Alright, in hindsight, maybe the horny is clouding his judgment and he’s definitely taking this too far and-

“_ Jesus Christ _.” Lance’s voice is deep, husky and thick with arousal. It’s not close enough for Keith to think he’s next to the shower, but he’s definitely in the room. Keith’s fantasy of Lance’s long body leaning back in the corner seems to be coming to life. Discreetly, Keith hides a smile in the crook of his arm.

Hook, line, and sinker. He’s really doing this. Gonna fuck his way back into Lance’s good graces.

Why didn’t he think of this ingenious idea before now?

His hand wraps around his cock properly now, spurred on by the sound of Lance’s voice dropped low with need. He replays it in his head over and over again, a constant loop, gets off on the thought that he was the one to make Lance sound like that. Wrecked, turned on, pissed off all at once. Keith has never felt so powerful and he already wants to hear it again.

He wishes Lance would stop being shy, would say something more, would talk him through it.

Keith’s cock is pulsing in his hand at this point, twitching with the need to spill all over himself. He wants to hold out longer, until Lance finally snaps and makes his move, but damn it it’s too hard. He can’t even remember every being this horny in his life. Every stroke of his hand across his cock has his entire body rocking down into it, chasing the feeling even as his fingers stretch his hole wide and dive into it. Again and again, he fucks back and forth between both his hands, feels the heat building.

When his orgasm hits him, it’s all at once and so sudden it nearly blindsides him. His entire body tenses up and locks into place, aside from his cock as it spasms in his hand and starts shooting cum in long, thick, ropes across the bottom of the tub. Keith’s hand is moving over the length of his cock so fast that it’s a blur as he comes. His ass clenches down around his fingers, as if trying to pull them deeper, and smugly he thinks about how good that would have felt around Lance’s cock if he’d gotten inside of him in time.

He shakes uncontrollably through the aftershocks, feels the pleasure through his entire body. Even as the waves of pleasure begin to taper out, he’s still replaying Lance’s voice in his mind.

After a while, he registers the dull ache in his hips from holding his thighs in position for so long, but even that is a pleasant burn as he slumps down against the floor of the tub and catches his breath. His eyelids already feel heavy, like he could pass out curled up right where he is.

But he can’t, because that was only the appetizer, and he’s sure the main event is yet to come.

Slowly, he sits up, looks toward the glass and licks his lips. Lance is out there, probably torn between staying or leaving right now. Keith wants to help him make up his mind.

“You enjoy the show, pervert? Just like old times?” Keith calls out into the echoing bathroom, loud enough that there’s no mistaking that he’s addressing someone now, someone in specific. There’s a shuffle of movement and Keith looks up just in time to watch two hands slam against the glass. If he were in this scenario with any other ghost, it’d be something straight out of a horror movie scene. As it is, a self-satisfied smirk envelopes his entire face. “So scary. I’m trembling in fear.”

“You’re such a fucking brat.” It’s nice hearing Lance’s voice again, even if he is insulting him right now. He rises to his feet, turns off the water and pushes his wet hair back out of his face. A part of him is tempted to rush along, but something more confident says that Lance will still be waiting for him when he reaches over and opens the shower door, no matter how long he takes. 

Lance wants this just as badly as him, and now that he’s coming down from his orgasm and his mind is a little clearer, that’s just all the more obvious.

There’s so much lust bouncing around inside his head that it’s suffocating, he feels like the room is filled ceiling to floor with a tangible weight of arousal. He knows it isn’t his own anymore, for the most part it has to be all Lance. He takes a sick satisfaction in knowing that he worked Lance up this much and the poor guy didn’t even get to finish yet. 

He reaches for the shower door and pulls it open, a smirk stretched lazily across his lips.

Lance is waiting there for him, naked and hard, with a deep scowl on his face that hardly matches the mood Keith has worked so diligently at setting up. No matter, Keith steps out and slinks past him, grabs his towel off the rack and wraps it around his waist. He pointedly avoids looking at Lance again, as he steps in front of the sink and goes to brush his teeth.

“I am _ so _ mad at you.”

“I’m sorry, did I hear something?” Keith furrows his eyebrows together, tries very hard not to let his amusement show on his face. “Hm. Must have been the wind.”

His eyes meet Lance’s in the mirror as he leans forward and spits his toothpaste into the sink, watching it drip from his lips in strings. It’s messy and impractical, but he’s stretching a very new seductive muscle and he’s working with what he’s got. Lance seems to get the hint anyway, eyes darkening with the unspoken implications.

Keith straightens back up, pushes his hips back and fits his ass against Lance’s front, their bodies separated by only a towel. Slowly, Keith reaches for the moisturizer Adam got him for Christmas last year, even though he’s only touched it maybe twice since then. He’s buying time, giving himself plenty of wiggle room, feeling Lance’s hard cock where it’s naturally slotted between his cheeks through the thin fabric. 

“The way you acted tonight was pathetic, Keith. It’s like you’re trying to sabotage every good thing in your life. There’s no excuse for it, you weren’t even drinking this time.” In the back of his mind, Keith realizes that Lance is trying to have an actual important conversation with him. He knows that he should feel guilty, that he probably does. But right now all he can really register about it is how hot Lance sounds like this, practically growling in his ear. “Which, by the way, you wanna talk about your apparent alcoholic tendencies? Would have been nice to know that. I could have, I don’t know, prepared for it better and looked out for you.”

Keith ignores him, straightens up and pulls away with a perfect pokerface. He yawns as he pads barefoot down the hallway, headed for his bedroom. He feels a tiny bit bad about the way he closes his bedroom door behind himself and doesn’t invite Kosmo inside, but he probably doesn’t want to see what’s about to go down in here anyway.

“Ah. I’m gonna sleep like a baby after that.” Keith sighs contentedly, stretching his arms high above his head and letting his towel hit the floor. He reckons he probably should try to dry his hair better before he falls face-first into the bed, but at the same time he’ll probably need a shower again afterward, so he’ll get another chance.

He collapses onto the mattress, lounges languidly across the length of the entire bed. He doesn’t even bother playing up the illusion by getting under the covers, just leaves it all bare and on display. To keep up with the act, he doesn’t look to see if Lance followed him, but he’s pretty confident at this point that he’s about to have his ass handed to him. “All _ alone _ in my big new house, in my big new bed. I don’t have to deal with _ anyone _ for the next week. No interruptions.”

“You know what? Fine. You win.” Lance’s voice comes from the doorway, but it isn’t seething with anger anymore like Keith had been hoping for. It’s back to being distant and cold. Keith can’t read what he’s feeling either, the last he’d been starting to grow so familiar with disappearing in an instant when Lance ropes his control back in. Still, Keith doesn’t look, because he feels like that would be admitting defeat. Admitting that he cares, that he wants this so badly, that he really feels sorry for his actions.

Five minutes pass him by agonizingly slowly and as they tick away, so does Keith’s patience. He lifts himself up into a push-up position, looks around the room and finds it completely empty. He sits up properly then, pulls the blankets over his lap to hide his soft cock. There’s no reason to be modest though, there’s no one there and Lance had seen it all already anyway.

He swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Lance?” Keith calls quietly, earning no response. His heart plummets to somewhere in his stomach and he lets out an angry huff, whirling around and dropping his face back into the pillow. He curls his hands into fists around the blankets for the entirely wrong reason, tugs uselessly at them as he lets out a few muffled angry shouts. He’s not going to cry. He’s not. He’s just frustrated and on edge and what would have been a very satisfying orgasm is now just a cruel reminder yet again.

Lance has a horrible habit of letting Keith down and ruining his post-climax cloud nine moments. That’s probably what Keith gets for acting like a tease, though. There’s no beating the master at his own game.

Sadly, he’s too tired to really throw a tantrum and make a big deal out of it. He’s not satisfied, but he is exhausted all of the sudden, so at least sleep is something on the horizon. It’s not exactly comparable to what he’d been aiming for, but it makes a decent consolation prize. 

His shoulders slump, his scowl fades away, his jaw goes slack.

Keith starts to slowly drift off, only the occasional hazy thought of Lance haunting him and keeping him on the verge of fully drifting off to unconsciousness. He’s in that weird in-between state, where his thoughts don’t exactly make sense, but he’s still aware of himself. 

So, when he feels hands gently rubbing over his ass, he doesn’t immediately jump to attention and assume it’s reality. He just relaxes back into it, a breathy little whine filtering past his lips where they’re rounded into an ‘o’ shape. It’s not a harsh enough touch to wake him, two strong hands gently kneading and rubbing at his ass cheeks. They spread them apart, push them together, give them a little jiggle up and down. Keith squirms uselessly against the sheets, feeling himself grow hard again.

Still, he’s starting to fall asleep fully now. It’s not a harsh enough touch to bring him fully back to himself and sleep is sounding pretty damn tempting right now. He’s fading in and out, blackness creeping in behind his eyelids, ready to be dead to the world for a while…

And then Lance pulls his hand back and slaps his pert little ass with enough force to shake the entire mattress. It’s definitely enough to hurt, to sting like a motherfucker and leave a handprint behind.

Keith jolts upright, immediately scrambling to get away from the source of the pain sleep-muddled as his thoughts are. He’s on his hands and knees, crawling toward the headboard desperately. But Lance is faster, far more awake and alert than he is. He grabs Keith’s ankle and yanks, pulls him right back to where he started and uses his other hand to spank him again.

“Hey! Get your hands off of me, you-mnff!” Keith’s shriek is cut off as Lance slaps him again, so hard Keith can feel the fat of his ass cheek ripple with the impact. He cries out, hips bucking forward in what he wants to believe is an effort to get away, but probably isn’t. Either way, he ends up rubbing his cock against the smooth sheets, and his jaw drops.

“There we go, finally wiped that cocky smirk off your face.” Lance grins, gripping Keith’s hips and yanking them up off the bed. Keith scrambles, hands flying across the sheets in search of purchase. He feels Lance slide a pillow underneath his stomach, keeping him propped up and exposed in that position. It’s undoubtedly embarrassing, especially as Lance spreads his cheeks again and no doubt gets a view of his hole where it’s clenching needily around nothing. He’s still stretched out and open, could probably slide home inside of him without any major resistance. Sure, it’d hurt a little, but the burn would be so good.

But because Lance is Lance and lives to make Keith suffer, he doesn’t rush things along and take Keith from behind like an animal. He spills lube down the crack of his ass so obscenely that Keith fills it spill into his hole and then drip past it. It goes beyond being excessive, Lance is just straight up being an asshole and wasting half a bottle of lube and threatening to ruin Keith’s brand new sheets. But… it’s sorta hot and Keith doesn’t do anything in the form of complaint other than rub his thighs together in anticipation.

He expects Lance to bottom out inside of him then, surely, especially when he grabs his cheeks again and spreads them obscenely wide, like he’s making room for himself there and preparing to-

Keith jolts halfway up the bed at the first pass of Lance’s wet tongue across his hole, flattened and rough across such a sensitive area. Lance is messy about it too, shoves his face right in and drags his tongue from Keith’s balls up, over his twitching hole and then follows the line of his crack where it’s slicked with lube.

“W-Wait a second, what are you doing?!” Keith yelps, tries to gain some control over the situation by turning over. But Lance just chuckles darkly and uses all his strength to crowd his body over Keith’s and force him back into position. Keith moans lowly, rubbing his sweaty face against the bed.

“Nothing you didn’t ask me to.” Lance reminds him cruelly. He taps Keith’s hip, rubs a soothing palm down the side of his thigh. Keith bites his lip, looks back at him over his shoulder. Lance just smirks at him, eyes dark with intent. “Come on, baby. Spread ‘em.”

“What if I say no?” Keith asks curiously, fluttering his eyelashes on purpose and giving his ass a little enticing wiggle. Lance doesn’t seem amused, his eyebrows dipping into a glare. Expectedly, his hand comes down to spank Keith again, using the whole palm of his hand. “Ah!”

“Then I’ll work with what I’ve got, but it’s gonna be more comfortable for you if you cooperate.”

“I just came! I’m tired out! I can’t go again, I-” Keith splutters excuses uselessly, but the whole time he finds himself arching his back and shoving his ass back at Lance in a plead for more. No matter how difficult he acts or how much he complains, they’re both on the same page about how badly Keith wants to be fucked. At this point he’s just doing it to irritate Lance further, to get it given to him good.

“I don’t care.” Lance shifts across the bed, until he’s close enough to brush his lips against Keith’s while he speaks. Keith’s eyes fall closed, savoring the feeling of Lance’s gentle cool breaths against his too-hot face. “I’m gonna eat you out until your legs are trembling so hard you can’t hold yourself up, gonna stretch you out on my tongue so loose and sloppy that you’ll have no trouble taking the cock you seem to want so much. And then you’re gonna take it, like it, and thank me for it.”

“Are we really doing this?” Keith finds himself asking, leaning closer and pushing their foreheads together. He’s tempted to kiss Lance properly, feels frustrated by the teasing at what he’s been wanting so badly for so long. But he also wants to wait for it, until they’re clear-headed and he knows what all of this means for them. He doesn’t want to kiss Lance now if he’s not gonna get to again later.

Lance brings his hand up, grips Keith’s jaw and massages his fingers into it. 

“No, we’re not _ really _ doing anything. I’m not _ real _, remember?” He practically spits the words, the anger behind them all too real. Keith flinches slightly, debates apologizing because he knows now that he really messed up by playing into Lance’s insecurities on that issue. He didn’t mean a word of what he said, he was just angry and spiteful toward Lance. But that doesn’t make it any less hurtful to him.

But before Keith can say a word, Lance is picking himself back up and getting back into position behind him. In lieu of the words he wants to say, Keith decides to stay perfectly still and behave for Lance, give him exactly what he’s asking for even if it elicits a shiver down his spine. He’s not sure if he can handle what Lance has in store for him, whether he asked for it in the heat of the moment or not. 

And Lance doesn’t exactly go easy on him.

Immediately, Lance plunges his tongue inside of Keith. He gives him no reprieve, just buries his face between his cheeks and rolls his tongue, prodding it past the tight ring of muscle. Keith cries out, hammering a fist against the mattress.

“O-Oh!” His body tenses up around the intrusion and Lance eases his tongue out, only to lap at his rim and suck on it. He’s clearly done this before, even if it’s been a while, because Keith has never had anyone eat him out with this much confidence. It’s like Lance knows exactly what sets him off. He knows exactly how to curl his tongue inside, when to relent and when to press deeper. 

Is it really any wonder that Keith can’t stay still? He squirms away from the touch and then presses back against it, uncertain what he wants. His legs keep sliding apart against the sheets too, and he repeatedly has to pick himself back up and move even more. Lance makes a valiant effort to hold him steady, to keep licking inside of him as steadily as he can while Keith is so all over the place. “Oh, fuck, Lance! Hnn, fucking christ, fuck-”

Keith falls forward again, dick twitching uselessly between his legs because he’s already painfully hard.

“Stay still!” Lance snarls, hauling him back into place. “Here. Right where I want you. Don’t move.”

“Or what? You’ll punish me?” Keith can’t help it, okay? Sure, he’d decided to be good, but something about the way Lance looks all pissed off and flustered is too hot to pass up on. Keith’s a glutton for punishment in every sense of the phrase and it’s never felt so good to be bad in his life.

“You are so… _ infuriating _.” From this angle, Keith can’t easily look back and see Lance’s expression that accompanies the words, but he can certainly imagine the tight-line of his lips and the coolness of his icy blue eyes. Keith pushes his hips back again, a silent request for Lance to pick up where he’d left off when Keith squirmed out of reach.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Lance insists, shoving two fingers into Keith’s body with a wet squelch. Keith moans at the way they reach so much deeper than Lance’s tongue, immediately starts to roll his hips back and forth against them, fucking himself back against Lance’s hand. He doesn’t get to control the pace for long, predictably.

The fingers inside of him spread apart and stretch him wide, and at that point he loses all control over his hips and just sort-of slumps forward again. Back into the position Lance wants him in, shoulders pressed to the bed and ass held high in the air for easy access. If the noise of approval low in the back of his throat is anything to go by, Lance is happy he’s cooperating on his own for once.

Keith keens loudly at the first flick of Lance’s tongue between those widespread long fingers holding his rim open. Then all bets are off, fucks his tongue inside between his fingers and licks him open even wider, until there’s saliva dripping down his taint and he can hear the audible noises of Lance’s devilish mouth at work. He’d always loved listening to Lance talk, the way he could chatter and ramble on for hours and fill every silence, but Keith is realizing now that he’d seriously been taken Lance’s mouth for granted because it’s capable of so much more.

“I won’t last until you’re inside of me if you keep doing that. I’m close.” Keith bites out, feeling shy as his breath starts to come in those familiar horny pants. His chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath, as he practically gulps in any air he can get before its punched out of his chest again by Lance’s tongue darting deep inside of him.

Lance does relent at the sound of his voice and Keith makes the mistake of relaxing, thinking he’s going to get a break. But when Lance sits up to address him, he just starts pumping those two fingers in and out of Keith’s hole. Fast and filthy, the glide is already made too slick and easy by his spit. Lance chats casually like he isn’t giving Keith the fingerfucking of his life and making his body slide up the bed.

“You think I care? Believe it or not, Keith, not everything is about you or your problems. Sometimes, you just gotta take what you get.” Lance drawls lazily, then curls his fingers just right and presses up against Keith’s prostate. It’s not like when Keith had fingered himself, just a fleeting amount of pressure before his hand was cramping and he had to relent. It’s direct and harsh stimulation, Lance’s fingertips digging into his inner walls and massaging against that bundle of nerves. He hits the target dead on, again and again, until Keith feels like he could cry from the overstimulation of it. 

“Lance! I can’t! I’m gonna-” Keith hopes that Lance’s intention is to make him come, that he’s been given permission to, because he really can’t stop himself now. Lance’s fingers keep rubbing inside of him, so controlled and precise, that Keith barely brushes his hand across his cock once before he’s shooting his load all over the sheets. His entire body shakes, muscles twitching uncontrollably and knees buckling until he’s falling against the pillow. 

And Lance just… keeps going. Keeps thrusting his fingers inside of him through the entire thing, until Keith is trembling through the aftershocks of orgasm and wondering if Lance can force another one out of him so soon out of sheer willpower alone. He feels like he’s still coming a minute later, when Lance finally slips his fingers free and lets him draw a breath again.

He’s a fool. He’s a fool to think that Lance was taking pity on him and letting him come down properly. 

Almost immediately, he hears Lance shuffling around behind him, feels the mattress dip and shift as Lance props himself up onto his knees behind him. Keith’s spine goes stiff, uncomfortably rigid as he feels hips slot up against his ass. Lance’s cock rests hot and heavy between his cheeks, dripping pre-cum across the dip of his spine as a filthy reminder of its presence. 

God, at this point he’s caught more than a few glimpses at Lance’s cock, mostly soft, but it’s something else to familiarize himself with it in this context. Lance is a lot bigger than he looks, definitely a grower because Keith doesn’t remember it being this huge all the times Lance casually walked around the house naked. He can hardly comprehend the thought of it pushing inside of him, especially not right now when his nerves are still livewires and he feels like he’s hardly had the chance to breathe.

“Now lie there and be a good hole for me to use, yeah?” Lance tells him, giving a little rock of his hips and sliding his cock up the slick line of Keith’s ass. He reaches down and pushes his cheeks together, gives himself a tighter hold to rut into. Keith whimpers in embarrassment, trying in vain to shift away from the pleasurable torture.

All he really manages to do is shift forward enough that Lance’s cockhead catches on his rim during the next thrust, threatens to push inside of him where he’s so loose and easy. Keith’s entire body shudders.

“Eager to get me inside of you, huh?” Lance teases him mercilessly, takes his cock in hand and rubs the head against his rim. Keith feels the tackiness of tears drying against his cheeks, but doesn’t remember when he started crying, or why. He’s just overwhelmed, totally engulfed by heat and passion, feels like it’s pulling him deep down below the surface and he can hardly see the light overhead. He’s gonna drown like this, suffocate to death on _ Lance _. 

“It’s too much, Lance, please-”

“Please, what?”

“Give me a break. Just a few minutes.” Keith starts to lift himself up, thinks better of it when Lance presses his cock more insistently against his entrance, just enough for it to start to flutter and stretch around it. Keith lowers himself obediently back down, holds his hips in place as he quietly continues talking. “I’ll keep you busy in other ways. I’ll use my mouth on you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You wanted to take my big fat cock, you’re gonna get it.” Lance tells him, leaving no room for argument on the matter. His tone is firm, final, an order to follow. Keith hates the way it makes him turn to horny goo beneath him, makes him want to spread his legs and be so good for him. He doesn’t have it in him to respond with words, just hides his face in his arms and shoves his ass back. 

He doesn’t manage to spear himself on Lance’s cock effortlessly, or maybe Lance pulls back just in time to avoid it, but he’s left empty and whining afterward. The chuckle Lance lets slip is mean. “Use your words, Keith. Either I fuck you now or we stop altogether, what do you want?”

“N-No, don’t stop, keep going.” Keith pleads, feeling his entire face burn with shame, the tips of his ears no doubt crimson. Lance reaches around and strokes a lube-covered hand lovingly across his jaw, caresses and curls around it.

“That’s what I thought.” His voice is smooth now, silky and deep like satin, and Keith couldn’t be more aroused if he tried. He feels Lance line himself up again, braces himself to take it, but then nothing happens again and he’s left muttering incoherent whiny complaints under his breath. Lance slaps his thigh to bring him back to the moment, to make him listen. “You’re going to apologize to all of the people you offended tonight, you hear me? Hunk, Pidge, Shiro, maybe even every single guest. Make sure they know that none of this was their fault.”

Lance is giving him orders again but this time they’re not sexual in nature and it sets off alarms in Keith’s head, makes him pick his weight up on his arms and get ready to protest it with all his might. He twists his body to look back at Lance, narrowing his eyes into a deep glare.

“Since when do you get to tell me what to do?” Keith huffs petulantly, sticking the tip of his tongue past his lips. If Lance is affronted by it, he doesn’t let it show. “Fuck me. That’s what you’re here for.”

“Do you really think you deserve that?” Lance asks him in turn, his voice deceivingly controlled, but the fire burning behind his eyes says he’s feeling anything but. And if Keith had any self-preservation instincts left, he’d probably take the hint and behave at that point. Instead, he reaches back behind himself and grips Lance’s cock, tries to lead the tip back to his hole.

Lance doesn’t fight him, surprisingly enough. He lets Keith lead things for a moment, lets him ease the head of Lance’s cock inside of his all too willing body. But then when Keith goes to take more, he pulls his hips back and leaves him with nothing again. Keith cries at the feeling of emptiness all over again, just when he’d been starting to make progress. “Brat. Maybe I won’t give it to you at all.”

“No!” Keith cries out in protest before he can stop himself, the act dropped in an instant at the mere implication that it might cost him what he wants to keep acting like he has. Lance snickers behind him, clearly amused by how easy it is to predict him. “Please, Lance, please. I need it. I need your cock. I need-”

Keith doesn’t get the chance to finish clarifying what he needs, because Lance is too busy already giving it to him. It’s like he_ knows _.

Almost effortlessly, Keith’s body is flipped so his back hits the mattress and his legs fall open on either side of Lance. The change in positions instantly makes everything a hundred times hotter. It feels more real like this. The intimacy of looking into Lance’s eyes as he crawls over Keith’s body and fits himself against it, gives a couple sloppy rolls of his hips into the lube-soaked apex of Keith’s body without ever actually penetrating him.

“Tell me you love me.” Lance growls out, reaching down to grab at Keith’s legs and push them up and over one of his shoulders. Keith slides down the bed to meet him, nearly bends himself over in half but he makes it work. Something about the way Lance is gripping his ankles makes him feel powerless, like all of the control is in Lance’s hands and he’d be a fool to fight back against it now. 

Admittedly, Keith is a little late registering exactly what Lance’s request is. It takes those blue eyes staring into his for a solid ten seconds after for him to really process what’s been said to him. At which point he promptly starts to blink back tears, mouth falling open to choke out the words. He wants to say it, has wanted to so many times, will never get tired of saying it. And it’s better like this, when he knows that Lance wants to hear it. Does this mean that Lance is ready to admit that he feels the same? 

Lance fits his cock against his hole, slides the first inch inside and has Keith gasping. “Say it. I didn’t tell you to get all teary-eyed and emotional. Just _ say it _.”

“I love you, Lance.” He says hurriedly, like he might miss his chance. “I love you so much, I’m so in love with you, I fucking love-”

Lance slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Good. That’s enough.” Lance laughs at him, at the way he’s so eager and desperate, whimpering weakly when he doesn’t get his way and get the chance to say it a hundred more times. Keith glares up at him, ready to be a little bit snarky in turn because it is a little bit cruel to cut him off when he’s finally getting the chance to express his feelings. But then Lance rocks his hips forward again, slides another inch into Keith’s body. It’s smooth, so easy that Keith is confident he could take it way faster. “You want it?”

“_ Please _.” Keith’s voice cracks with the force behind the word. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for it? I’m not gonna go easy on you.”

“I’m ready.” Keith nods rapidly, so hard his chin nearly hits his chest each time. “I’m_ so _ ready.”

“Well, if you say so,_ baby _.”

With that, Lance thrusts his hips forward hard and bottoms out inside of him.

Keith has never considered himself to be a screamer, but there’s a first for everything. Feeling the blunt head of Lance’s cock spearing him open seems like as good a reason as any to throw his head back into the pillows and scream so loud his throat is left feeling raw. To go from clenching desperately around nothing to so satisfyingly full in seconds flat is overwhelming.

“It’s so big. I can’t-” He tries to say, but even still his body is twitching around Lance’s cock and trying to milk it for all its worth, trying to pull him inside even deeper so it can start getting adjusted to the girth of it properly. Keith knows it’s nothing he can’t handle, he’s taken bigger cocks in the past, he’s just had a lot more lead up to it than this.

“You can. You’re already doing it. Your slutty body’s wrapping around my cock so tight, it knows exactly what to do. You’ve been waiting so long for this, haven’t you?” Lance coos at him as he starts up a steady rhythm right from the start, sliding back out and jerking his hips forward again. It’s nothing like the slow build up that Keith is used to that bleeds into fast and hard later. It’s unforgiving and plain with intent right from the start. There’s nothing coy about it, Lance has been hard for Keith’s last two orgasms and this is the first attention he’s gotten. He’s damn well going to come now.

“Yeah.” 

“Does it feel as good as you thought it would? Fill you up so nicely?” Lance asks, somehow managing to form words even as he drills his cock into Keith’s ass with such ferocity that it has the headboard hitting the wall and probably destroying the nice paint job they’d done together. Keith doesn’t care, he’s far away from the moment. He’s slipping out of reality, reduced to just the sensation of being filled, fixated on where he can feel every inch of Lance working him open.

“Mhm.”

“Aw, I was hoping to hear more of those pretty screams, why are you going so shy on me now?” Lance is taunting him at this point, he’s doing it on purpose to try and get a rise out of Keith. In another setting, Keith probably would play into it and go back to acting up to prove a point. But Lance is making sure that’s not a possibility, fucking him so fast that Keith is out of commission for the foreseeable future.

But Lance doesn’t seem to like being ignored completely, slows his hips down to a barely-there grind inside of Keith’s body. He doesn’t even pull out, just flexes his hips where they’re already pressed flushed to Keith’s ass. It’s the worst torture imaginable, taking this away from him now that he finally has it.

“Am I overwhelming you, Keith?” Lance punctuates the question with a harsh jab of his cock directly into Keith’s prostate, punches a response out of Keith whether he wants to or not, even if it is just a low slurred moan of Lance’s name. He keeps fucking him like that, with short hard thrusts, the fast pace abandoned in favor of brutal strength behind each one. 

Keith tries to thrash away from the overstimulation when Lance’s cock keeps hitting his prostate, but his legs are still caught in Lance’s grip and held in place, so he doesn’t have much choice but to take it however Lance wants to give it. He closes his eyes tight and grits his teeth, tipping his head back to pant into the open air. “You gonna come on my cock? Think you can do it untouched this time?”

“I don’t-” Keith starts to say, but then he thinks better of it. He nods his head, hopes that he’s making Lance proud. He wants to be good for him, wants to give everything to him. “Yeah. I can do it.”

“That’s the spirit, baby.” Lance grits out. When Keith’s eyes peek open again, it’s to the sight of Lance gripping onto his legs like a lifeline, hugging them tightly to his chest while his hips roll and buck into Keith’s body. There’s none of the sweat that Keith would normally associate with such a rough fucking, but Lance’s face is screwed up in pleasure-pain like he’s running a marathon just the same. 

Lance forces his eyes back open, meets Keith’s gaze for a split second and has the audacity to wink at him in the middle of everything. “Fuck. I’m getting close, how are you coming along?”

“C-Close.”

“Gonna come inside you, sweetheart. Is that okay? Wanna feel me fill you up?” Lance asks, but something tells Keith that he’s far gone enough that whatever he answers will only lead to the same result. Luckily, the thought of Lance filling him with hot, sticky cum is the hottest thing Keith’s horny brain can think of, so he’s definitely on board. 

“Don’t stop!” Keith cries out, trying to speed up the process.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Lance mutters under his breath, but Keith is quick to wipe the perturbed look off his face. He pulls one of his legs free, gets his hands under both knees and holds himself spread open, legs up and out in either direction. He knows how he must look right now, so eager for it that he’s holding himself open, so damn easy that it isn’t even funny. 

Lance groans something filthy at the sight, hips stuttering out of rhythm. “Fuck. Just like that, spread ‘em wide for me. I’m gonna come now, gonna give it to you.”

“Yes, yes, y-” Keith’s voice cuts off into a sharp cry when Lance picks up his pace, jackrabbits his cock into him so fast that it almost hurts. The brutal pace doesn’t last for long before Lance is crumpling forward, just barely managing to catch himself with a hand planted on the mattress before colliding with Keith’s chest. Keith feels it when he comes, the way Lance’s cock jerks something desperate, straining against his walls and pressing up against him just right.

His third orgasm of the night is so intense that the pleasure blinds him to everything else, has him arching off the bed and screaming Lance’s name a second time as he comes across his chest. He absolutely paints his pale skin with cum, leaves wet trails of it sliding between his abs, and speckled across his chest. It’s a hundred times more intense when he isn’t even touching his cock, when it’s twitching and pulsing all on its own. Lance must think the same because Keith can feel his gaze drinking it in, admiring the show he’s being given.

And as the pleasure fades out, so does Keith. He feels like he’s floating, so far above the room. Or maybe he’s underwater, leaving everything else blurry and muffled. He doesn’t know where he is, but it’s pretty far away from the moment. Not to be dramatic or anything, but he thinks it just might be the best orgasm of his entire life.

The thing to bring him back down is Lance’s soft voice, Lance’s hands rubbing soothingly up the sides of his body, his lips pressing against Keith’s lightly. 

“Breathe, baby, breathe.” Lance whispers, pressing their lips together in a few fleeting pecks like he can breathe the life back into Keith that way. Slowly, Keith’s eyes blink open and stares into Lance’s deep blue ones, where they’re swimming with kindness and concern. Keith inhales sharply, starts to smile almost instinctively. Lance mirrors the expression, grinning wide and warm. “There you are. Come back to me.”

“I think you fucked me to death.” Keith blurts out, giggling quietly. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to be so rough.” Lance shifts back onto his haunches, gently lowers Keith’s aching legs back down to the mattress and pulls himself out. Keith gives a grumbled complaint, immediately rolling onto his side and trying to alleviate the ache. All of his muscles ache like never before, the position they’d chosen not exactly realistic for any length of time.

Lance understands. He flops next to him and curls into his side, peppering kisses across his shoulders and chest where the skin is soaked with sweat. Aside from the dull ache of his thighs and in his backside, Keith is more relaxed than he’s ever been, all loose and pliant, and he’s left fighting off sleep all over again. He’ll deal with everything else in the morning.

“Trust me. I’m_ not _ complaining.”

“I know, but I wanted to talk to you before it happened. I wanted us to apologize and be on better terms. I just lost my head the second I heard you moaning my name.”

“You wanted to apologize?” Keith says it slowly, tries the words out on his tongue. The way Lance says it sounds like Keith played no part at all in reeling him back into his life, that he didn’t actually tempt him in with sex like some sort-of siren. He talks like this was all premeditated, like Lance had made up his mind to take Keith back long before he stumbled across him in the shower earlier touching himself.

Oh.

Lance looks delightfully embarrassed beside him as well, scrubbing a hand over his face with a low groan at the awkward topic. Keith watches him with wide, invested eyes. He couldn’t fight the smile from his face if he tried.

“Yeah. I was going to after the party, but then everything went to shit and I just-”

“Apology accepted.” Keith cuts him off, his impatient nature getting the better of him yet again. Lance pauses, gives him a strange look, eyebrows furrowed together and lips twitching against the urge to curl upward. He looks so smitten and Keith feels exactly the same way.

“I haven’t even _ said _ it yet.”

“Hold me and we’ll call it even.” Keith insists, reaching his arms out and wiggling his fingers expectantly in Lance’s direction. Somehow, it still comes as a pleasant surprise when Lance doesn’t even hesitate to take him up on the offer, just pulls him in close against his chest and keeps him there. Keith feels like he’s shining like a star, lit up with how happy he feels.

“So pretty like this. All submissive and sweet.” Lance murmurs, pressing kisses into Keith’s unruly hair like it’s something worthy of being cherished. Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s torso and cuddles in closer, shoves his face into the curve of Lance’s neck and simply breathes there. He could definitely get used to this. It’d make falling asleep a whole lot easier.

But then Lance continues, his voice dropping into something quieter like he thinks Keith has already started to drift off and he doesn’t want to wake him. “You are so beautiful, what could you possibly see in a guy like me?”

Sleep thoroughly forgotten once again, Keith sits up in bed so suddenly that even Lance looks startled by it. Lance scrambles to sit up next to him, looking totally lost.

“Don’t even start with that.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Don’t convince yourself that you don’t deserve this, not again.” Keith tells him stubbornly, but then he’s crossing his arms over his chest, and his bottom lip is trembling with the sudden need to cry. He leans back against the headboard, brings the blankets up around himself. Lance watches him curiously, doesn’t say a word, just stares at Keith’s tiny and trembling frame. “I don’t want you to leave again.”

“Hey, Keith, it’s okay. I’m here now.” Lance sits up, crowds closer and wraps his arms around Keith’s broad shoulders. He presses a kiss to his cheek, lets his lips linger there near his ear as he whispers his next words. “I’m_ trying _.”

“It still feels like you’re gonna disappear again.” Keith mumbles, but when Lance stretches out his hand he takes it, doesn’t even think twice. He threads their fingers together and squeezes, lets it ground him.

“Come here.” Lance pulls Keith back into the bed properly, curls around him from behind and hitches his chin over his shoulder. It’s a relieving feeling, to have Lance pressed so closely against his back, to feel every inch of him and know so thoroughly that he’s there. He’s really there. “You’re not gonna be able to get rid of me, I’m gonna be all over you all the time.”

“I don’t want to get rid of you.” Keith chokes out. “I don’t want Pidge to get rid of you. I don’t want Hunk to get rid of you. I don’t want you to get rid of yourself. I just… want you to stay.”

“Why?” Lance asks it so suddenly, it’s clear that he hasn’t thought it through. The way he tenses against Keith’s back afterward almost makes it seem like he regrets it, like he wishes he could suck it back in and forget all about it. But Keith definitely heard it, felt the spike of emotions that even Lance’s newfound sense of control couldn’t keep under wraps.

And Lance is so scared. Terrified, even. He’s on the same page as Keith, even as he tries desperately to hide it, to be the strong one for both of them. He tries to act confident, but he’s just as uncertain about where their future is headed. Oddly, knowing that and feeling it for himself is more of a relief than anything else. At least now Keith knows that they’re in this together.

He rolls over so they’re facing each other, tangles their legs together in a mess of long limbs.

“I love you.” Keith says, evenly. He meets Lance’s gaze from the short distance between them on the pillow, holds it even when uncertainty flashes in Lance’s eyes. He waits until Lance visibly relaxes, then shifts closer and brushes their noses together. “I_ choose _ you. I don’t want anyone else, even if it would be easier. The heart wants what it wants and mine wants _ you _.”

“We’re so bad at this.”

“No, we’re learning.” Keith insists, placing a hand over Lance’s chest where he’d feel the dull thud of a heartbeat if there was still one there to feel. He looks up, meets his gaze again. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You really want this? Still? Even after everything that’s happened? You really want _ me _?”

“More than anything.” Keith breathes out. “If anything, I want you more now.”

“_ Why _?”

“I mean, for starters, we’ve definitely already hit our rock bottom so we can only go up from here. I think we’ve both seen each other at our worsts. But being without you the past week and a half has really put it into perspective how big of a role you play in my life. Obviously I already realized, I confessed and all, but… I don’t know. My days just don’t feel whole without you to share them with.”

“I still feel like I should apologize.” 

“Lance, don’t worry about-”

“I nearly killed you, Keith! I nearly killed you because I couldn’t control myself. I never… I never would have forgiven myself. That was the moment I knew something had to change. I thought if I distanced myself even more, maybe it would be enough, but even if I wasn’t actively hurting you, you were still hurting. We were both hurting. I couldn’t let it go on anymore.”

“It was an accident.”

“Still.”

“I did my fair share of things I should be apologizing for too, if we wanna go there.” Keith reminds him, tries not to feel embarrassed when Lance gives him a heavy nod of agreement. Briefly, Keith debates if maybe he should elaborate more and give a real proper apology. He wonders if Lance wants something like that. But, he also wants them to start moving forward, to put it behind them.

Who knows, maybe they’ll revisit it later. But right now is a time for beginnings and he doesn’t want the past to cloud that. “If I’m being perfectly honest, there are probably more things yet to come. I’m sort-of a mess. But you knew that about me long before we got to know each other, didn’t you?”

“You’re not a mess.” 

“Oh yeah?” Keith scoffs. “I just blew up at some poor stranger and nearly beat the shit out of him just because he has a harmless passion for the paranormal. You ever hear of a non-mess that does shit like that?”

“Maybe you’re a bit messy, but that’s not _ all _you are.” Lance reasons gently, but he starts laughing almost as soon as he gets it past his lips. Keith knows it isn’t at his expense though, that Lance is just amused by all the things they’ve been through together already. When he stops giggling to himself, it’s abrupt, like he’s just thought of something he can’t go another second without doing.

He shifts in close, grips Keith’s jaw and pulls him forward. Keith’s eyes flutter closed, expecting to be kissed properly like he wants. Instead, Lance gives him so much better. He whispers the worsts against his lips, the utter tease. Keith can’t stay mad though, doesn’t have the strength to when Lance is saying exactly what he’s been dying to hear. “I love you too, _ Keith _.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Lance confirms with a nod. “I mean, I’m sure you already know it if you can feel my emotions or whatever. I just felt like it was past time for me to say it back to you. Mess and all, I really love you.”

“Are we good? Are we gonna do this? Give it an honest chance this time?”

“You must have an awful lot of faith in my will-power if you think I could walk away from _ this _ sight a second time.” Lance gestures between them, down the line of Keith’s naked body. It’s slick and there’s cum drying on his legs, but Lance looks at him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Well, just in case, let me make it more tempting.” Keith doesn’t give him much time to process the words before he’s rolling over and hitching a leg over Lance’s hips, settling down flush on top of him and making himself comfortable there. He curls around Lance’s body, kisses across his chest. When he sits up, his hair falls in waves at his shoulders. He peers down at Lance. “Stay with me? Love me? Be mine?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Lance leans up to meet him halfway and kisses him for each ‘yes’ he speaks. At the last one, Keith’s hand darts up to cradle the back of his head and keep him there. To kiss him properly, to feel their mouths work so easily together, to express what words couldn’t. 

When they pull apart, they’re both smiling. Keith runs his thumb across Lance’s bottom lip, reverent about it. “As long as you want me, I’m yours.”

“Forever, then?” Keith presses, urgency slipping into his question.

“If that’s what you want.” Lance relents. “Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> Guys... I had way too much fun writing this. As much as I love all the porn lately, there was something about writing a good tasty slowburn that I just NEEDED to feel again. The Dirty Dancing scene was my most self-indulgent impulsive addition and it might be my favorite scene in the entire fic. Did anyone notice that Lance started calling Keith baby after watching that movie together bc the pet name totally sticks. 
> 
> Also, fun behind the scenes fact, this story was actually WAY longer. I had dialogue planned for WAY past the sex scene, all the way to where Keith introduces Lance to his friends, and then eventually Lance learns how to possess people so he can leave the property, and then they go to the graveyard to see Lance's tombstone and see Lance's mother there. It was a whole THING! But just rest assured, they DO work on their issues as a couple and as individuals. There's a long-term happily ever after on the horizon.
> 
> I also had another smutty scene planned out when I first planned this story and I'm kinda skeptical that it fits into the timeline now, but imagine this... Keith hooking up with a stranger and getting plowed from behind, while ghost!Lance fucks his mouth and is invisible and sneaky so the third party never even realizes that he's sharing. Hm. Just a Thought.
> 
> @melancholymango is my main acc on twitter/tumblr  
@redgaysonly is my nsfw acc on twitter where i post mostly klance and im on my horny bullshit 24/7
> 
> ps: the title is lyrics from the song "ghosting" by mother mother which is one of my favorite songs and favorite bands of all time... pls lsiten thank u


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